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✓ 


BEN WARMAN 


BY 

CHARLES E. WINTER 

/ * 

AUTHOR OF “GRANDON OF SIERRA” 



PRINTED BY 


J. J. LITTLE 6* IVES COMPANY 
1917 



PZ 3 

W7^; g 

i 


COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
CHARLES E. WINTER 

To 

• 4 . a~X^ r ^ 21 > fC]Z(a 


Printed in the United States of Americm 


2D e i> i t a t e b 

TO MY SONS 

STANLEY THACHER WINTER 
WARREN HUTCHINSON WINTER 
FRANKLIN CHARLES WINTER 
AND TO 

THE YOUTH OF THE WEST 





/ 




TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGB 

CHAPTER I 

At Diorite i 

CHAPTER II 

The Blood 15 

CHAPTER III 

New Voices and the Goddess of Chance 24 

CHAPTER IV 

On Tendencies in Recession 49 

CHAPTER V 

As to the Breaking of Horses and Promises .... 32 

CHAPTER VI H 

The Easterners and the “Throwback” 40 

CHAPTER VII 

Trent Wakes a Lion 50 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Promise 60 

CHAPTER IX 

The Amber-eyed Girl 68 

CHAPTER X 

The Planting of the Seed 80 

CHAPTER XI 

The Iron Capping 95 

CHAPTER XII 

Quick Shooting 105 

chapter xin 

A Partnership in Earnest no 

CHAPTER XIV 

A Plot is Laid 117 

CHAPTER XV 

Starting the Shaft 128 

CHAPTER XVI 

A Factor from the Past 134 

CHAPTER XVH 

Dan Drillard Entertains 142 


Ca&le of Contents 


PAGE 

CHAPTER XVIII 

“To the Stars Through Difficulties ” 153 

CHAPTER XIX 

Dick Grant Makes a Discovery 163 

CHAPTER XX 

Down Miner Street 171 

CHAPTER XXI 

Dan Gets into Action 176 

CHAPTER XXII 

The Lure 181 

CHAPTER XXIII 

“Try Again” 19S 

CHAPTER XXIV 

In a Land of Men— a Reptile 205 

CHAPTER XXV 

Red and White Corpuscles 22a 

CHATPER XXVI 

A Fall and a Victory 226 

CHAPTER XXVII 

The Silent Pledge 234 

CHAPTER XXVHI 

A Challenge 242 

CHAPTER XXIX 

' In the Columbine Cabin 250 

CHAPTER XXX 

A Letter on the Trail 264 

CHAPTER XXXI 

In the Land of the Shoshones 275 

CHAPTER XXXII 

The Placer Gold 282 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

The Fight 289 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

A Debt Is Paid 305 

CHAPTER XXXV 

Readjustments 3*3 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

The Strike 3 l8 

CHAPTER XXXVII 

Under the Moon-born Rainbow 323 


EXTRACTS FROM REVIEWS OF 

“GRANDON OF SIERRA 1 


44 Full of the strenuous life of the Northwest/’ — New York Times, 

“Breathes the spirit of the West.” — Sheridan Enterprise. 

“A western tale with characters from life.” — New York World. 

“Abounds in adventures and mining lore.” — Springfield Repub- 
lican. 

“A tale of the conquering of the desert. Ideally western.” — 
Rhyolite Herald. 

44 A wonderfully faithful picture of the Wyoming we all love. Mr. 
Winter portrays an empire in the building. "—Grand En- 
campment Herald. 

“Mr. Winter has caught the spirit of the hills and has written a 
really good western story, far superior to ‘The Virginian' 
in the opinion of the writer.” — Thermopolis Record. 

44 A real Wyoming novel.” — Rock Springs Miner. 

“Mr. Winter has brought credit to himself and his State.” — 
Wyoming Tribune. 

“One of the most notable productions of the past year.” — Lara- 
mie Republican. 

“A true representation of western life. True to Wyoming af- 
fairs.” — Rawlins Republican. 

4 ‘It contains spirit and chivalry.” — The Gleaner (Detroit). 

“A story of the awakening West.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“Mr. Winter enters the lists of literature as a Westerner striving 
for a place among the acknowledged leaders.” — Denver Re- 
publican. 

4 4 Abounds in lively incidents and action. The love story is 
thrilling.” — Omaha Bee. 

“Few localities have been described in a more ardent manner.” 
— Omaha World-Herald. 

“A story of the plains that has an agreeable western flavor from 
the first to the last page.” — Pittsburg Press. 

“ What Bret Harte did for California a quarter of a century ago, 
Mr. Winter has done for Wyoming to-day.” — California 
News. 

(Grandon). 





BEN WARMAN 


CHAPTER I 

AT DIORITE 

An open, ribbed fan of gold spread in the eastern 
sky and the mining camp of Diorite was flooded with 
white splendor. 

Along the winding course of the Lost Dog, a moun- 
tain stream wandering eastward into the infinity of 
the plain, a horseman moved slowly toward the town. 
Undoubtedly, he came from the cattle-country. His 
horse, a tough, rangey buckskin, half broncho, half 
racehorse, his huge saddle, sombrero, knotted, loose 
handkerchief, chaps, spurs and Colt six-gun proclaimed 
him a cowboy. 

“Y’u Mesa, what y’u mean a tryin’ tuh bite muh 
laig!” he exclaimed with assumed reproach, for his 
horse had but rubbed him affectionately with his 
nose. 

The rider lifted his smooth, tanned face as he 
heard the patter of hoofs nearing him from another 
trail which merged into his some three miles from 
Diorite. 

“Hello, y’u hoss-thief !” sang out the newcomer. 

For just a second a glint came to the blue eyes of 
the first rider, then, as he recognized the speaker, a 
broad smile met the good-natured grin that greeted 
him. 


I 


15en JQarman 


“Ef ut ain’t Buck Carson my handle ain’t Ben War- 
man,” declared the rider of Mesa as he slowed his 
horse to a walk and leisurely prepared to roll a ciga- 
rette. “Where’n’ell ur y’u ridin’ from this time uh 
day? Ain’t sick ur y’u?” 

“From the Bar-O, same as always, un’ the Doc 
sez I cun sip a little tea ef I’m plumb careful not 
t’work any,” Buck responded in an affectedly faint 
voice. “What y’u doin’?” 

Ben Warman laughed loud and long, a sonorous, 
musical laugh, which was gradually subdued to a 
broad grin. “Quit the K. C. ’bout ten days ago ; ben 
at Cowtown ever since. Cleaned out the sports there, 
then blew m’pile. There wuz a little mix-up over 
some feller’s slide-o’-hand card work un’ t’void hurtin’ 
the marshal I hits the road ’bout three p. x.” 

“Ain’t slingin’ rope no more fur ol’ man Paxton 
on the K. C.?” 

“Nope,” responded his companion, blowing a vapor 
of smoke, “his ol’ nibs somehow ’rived at the cun- 
clusion thet I wuz un ondesirable element, so,” he 
grinned again, “he — he bought me out. Th’ way he 
put it wuz this : ‘Y’u all hez ben raisin’ too num’rous 
seesmick disturbances yereabouts an’ I makes three 

guesses ; the first un’ is y’u burn the trail ’ I sez : 

‘Y’u don’t need the other two.’ ” 

“Bought y’u out, eh, Ben?” repeated Buck pen- 
sively. “Whatever wuz the cunsideration fur them 
cunveyuns ?” 

“One month’s wages wuz a cornin’ my way. I 
leaves him the ranch free o’ all encumbrance o’ muh 
person.” 

Buck’s wide mouth opened yawningly as he laughed. 
“Say, Buck,” suggested Ben, “shet y’ur mouth so I 
cun see y’ur face.” 

Buck subsided. “What y’u goin’ to do now?” he 
queried with a real concern in his voice. “Come back 
2 


Ben COacman 


to the Bar-O, Ben, the boys ’ll sure be riotin’ glad 
t’ see y’u. It’ll seem like old times, Ben ; y’u’ll come, 
won’t y’u?” 

“Can’t do it, Buck, old man. It’s the mines fur me. 
No more broncho bustin’ un’ herd ridin’ fur this short- 
horn. It’s sure a great life but five years is enough. 
From t’morrow on I’m a prospector un’ miner. M’ 
blood’s too restless somehow to stay ’ith the cow coun- 
try any longer. Ain’t nuthin’ but wages cornin’. Min- 
in’ is diff’runt. Y’u know I hed a right smart o’ min- 
in’ experience ’fore I struck the Bar-O. There’s al’us 
a chance to make it big. One good roundup puts a 
man on easy street fur life; providin’, in course, he 
cun stay there peaceful un’ not go stampedin’ over 
the range wild like.” 

“But ain’t the range hard to quit, Ben?” insisted 
Buck, regretfully. 

“Someways, yes; I sure like the boys; but speakin’ 
open like, it’s uz easy uz kickin’ a hog-tied steer in the 
back.” 

“I’ve knowed y’u t’ go two miles out o’ y’ur way 
to kick a sheep,” interjected Buck in a quizzical tone. 

Ben laughed silently. “But I ain’t no cattleman no 
more; ain’t even a rustler an’ don’t expect no cow 
to have three calves in one season.” 

“Minin’ ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, uz the feller 
sed ’bout the oatmeal. Well, y’u’re a sure ’nuff cow- 
boy t’day yet anyways,” he added hopefully, looking 
at the supple, graceful figure, the round torso, the 
columnar neck, the easy saddle poise of the splendid, 
vigorous youth at his side. 

There was regret in Buck’s heart for, a few years 
Warman’s senior, he had taken delight in teaching 
him the life and work of the cowboy, including some 
of its diversions. There was a big, soft spot in the 
heart of this homely, sandy rider of the range for 
Ben Warman. 


3 


13en OUarman 


“But,” he sang meaningly: 

“ 'We got all day an’ we got all night, 

We’ll do things up an’ do ’em right.’ 

T’morrow y’u may be a prospector ur a faro dealer 
ur a bullionaire; but t’day un’ t’night y’u’re still a 
cowboy.” 

The significance of which was duly recognized by 
his comrade. “Which it’s agreeable t’ me. We’ll 
kill t’day an’ t’night at Diorite.” 

Both voices raised in unison, with considerable more 
emphasis than harmony but true to time and swing, 
into their favorite song: 

“Oh, the bold vaquero is up at the dawn 
And into the saddle is he-e; 

With a swinging lope he’s over the slope 
And onto the broad prairie-e. 

Oh, the cow may turn and the cow may twist 
But right on her tracks is he-e ; 

It’s get there Eli as sure as you’re born 
For a bold vaquero is he-e.” 

The chorus followed with additional lung power: 

“Then whoop la-la, set ’em afire ! 

Shouts the rider free-e, 

It’s throw in your spurs and burn the earth 
For a cowboy’s life for me-e.” 

Winding up the chorus with a flourish they dashed 
into the broad main street of the mining town, and, 
swinging down, threw their reins over their horses’ 
heads in front of “The Palace,” the most pretentious 
of the seven saloons that tried to slake the seemingly 
insatiable thirst of Diorite’s four hundred people. 

4 


'ISeti <K3arman 


“Let’s feed our face,” proposed Ben, leading the 
way to the restaurant annex of the saloon. 

“Done,” rejoined Buck, “we face our feed. I ain’t 
heard no cook a howlin’ ‘Well, she’s mixed,’ ur ‘come 
un’ git it,’ but I guess she’s ready.” 

“Sugar?” queried the waitress in a dead monotone, 
addressing Buck and bending over his coffee cup. 

“Yeh.” 

“How many?” 

Buck looked puzzled and Ben rubbed his hand over 
his mouth to restrain a laugh. The waitress came to 
Buck’s relief. 

“Two?” 

“Yeh.” Two square lumps disclosed the mystery to 
Buck, who reached a long leg under the table and 
kicked Ben in the shin. He would not be caught 
again. 

“Cream?” Cream was polite fiction in the mining 
country, understood by all. 

“Yeh,” said Buck carelessly, “ ’bout three.” 

But while it was condensed it was not in lumps. 
The weary face of the waitress lighted with a smile 
as she moved away. 

As the partners entered the saloon through a side 
door from the restaurant Ben Warman accidentally 
collided with a drunken form which emitted a snarl 
and with a deep curse struck viciously. With lightning 
quickness Warman caught the unexpected blow on his 
right arm. The next instant the lithe body set itself 
and his left whipped to the jaw of the stranger, who 
dropped in a huddled heap. Giving him one glance 
as he stepped forward the cowboy proceeded to the 
bar and calmly said: 

“I’d ’ve ben here a trifle sooner, Gents, but there 
wuz a slight interruption o’ m’ peaceable progress inter 
y’ur midst. Beggin’ y’ur pardon fur the delay, every- 
body have one.” 


5 


35en ©Barman 


The nonchalant speaker was at once surrounded 
by a surging crowd. Everybody having had one, the 
curly-haired cowboy was cordially tendered the proper 
courtesies and invited into a poker game. Buck sat 
out as he had no funds, refusing Ben’s offer to di- 
vide his “pile.” But he immediately became the center 
of a noisy, questioning group. 

“Him? Why, ain’t y’u all heard o’ Ben Warman?” 

“Ben Warman !” exclaimed several in unison. 
“Y’u don’t mean t’ shoot it to us straight that that’s 
Ben Warman!” 

“Thet’s exactly the impression I’m a designin’ t’ 
convey t’ y’ur beclouded intellecks,” replied Buck suc- 
cinctly. 

“We sure heard o’ him a heap but never met up with 
him,” volunteered an informer. 

“His own, private, pertic’ler stampin’ ground,” Buck 
responded, after segregating a large chew, “where he 
keeps his nose-bag an’ gits his hoofs shod, is off down 
Cowtown way. He ain’t jest happened to stroll up 
thisaway heret’fore. Y’u’re kind o’ new. Used to 
work ut the Bar-O an’ K. C.” 

“Ef he’s uz good uz they say there ain’t nobody in 
these parts as can draw a gun in the same day with 
him and as fur handlin’ his dukes it’s ben throwed to 
us purty straight that he’s in a class by hisself,” of- 
fered another. “Guess nobody’ll be carin’ to rope 
him that way round here, onless it’s Bart Conley, the 
old man hisself. But don’t s’pose we could get ’em 
together.” The last was added in a regretful tone as 
though the speaker felt a sore personal disappoint- 
ment, which was participated in by the crowd. 

The “old man” was the proprietor of “The Palace” 
and gave particular attention to its gambling business. 
Bart Conley, dark, sinister, with a tremendous phy- 
sique, never overcome in the ring or elsewhere, was 
equally hated and feared by the residents of Diorite. 

6 


15 en (HJarman 


And yet, such is the paradox of human nature, his 
place was the most popular of the many “booze- 
joints” and gambling halls of the camp. His duties, 
a general supervision and lookout over the gambling 
games, kept him from four p. m. until four a. m. 
Hence he was not present at the happenings of this 
particular morning. He was a man of few words, al- 
ways calm and self possessed, even when smashing 
some disturber to the floor with his mighty fist. 

“Ever hear tell how Warman got edicationed ’ith 
his fists ?” inquired Buck. Numerous eager heads were 
shaken in the negative. 

“It’s some five years ago he lopes into the Bar-O. 
Nuthin’ but a youngster. Gits into trouble one day 
’ith Bud, Simmons, who’s foreman. Bud licks him 
by main strength un’ knowin’ how combined. Next 
day the kid draws his wages and strikes fur Frisco, 
hunts up the best thur is in the bus’ness — the fightin’ 
game — un’ in six months whips everything they ropes 
in the ring with ’im. They’re figgerin’ on puttin’ him 
up agin the champeen when he disappears. He turns 
up at the Bar-O one mornin’ soon after un’ walks 
up to ol’ Persimmons, uz we calls the foreman, un’ 
sez short like: ‘Peel y’ur harness, Pm a goin’ to put 
my brand on y’u right now.’ 

“Say, the way Ben handles thet walloper is uz 
beaut’ful a sight as I ever expect t’ git muh peepers 
on. After showin’ how he cun hit Bud any time un’ 
anywhere he wants to, Bud’s eyes bein’ closed and his 
nose swollen scandalous, Ben picks him up, jest fur 
good measure, un’ to show he’s got his growth final, 
un’ tosses the boss over the fence into the corral. 
‘Guess thet’ll be enough,’ sez he, un’ puts on his har- 
ness agin. Funniest man y’u ever see ; his eyes is blue 
but when he gits into action they gits gray. When 
he gits his head set he’s so danged obst’nut thet ef 
he wuz to git drowned we’d look fur his body up- 

7 


13m (HUarman 


stream. An’ lucky! Say, he cun guess what y’ur 
name’ll be next year this time.” 

“Like to see him meet up with Bart. When Bart 
quit the ring business he was the best there was in 
the country,” suggested another of the listeners. 

“All I got to say,” responded Buck, pulling the 
string of his tobacco sack shut with his teeth, “is 
thet if Conley wants t’ keep his record intack he’d 
better steer clear o’ Ben Warman.” 

“Where’d he git his pistol hand?” 

“Pistol hand! Hands, y’u mean,” continued Buck, 
skillfully rolling a cigarette with one hand, “he’s uz 
good ’ith one uz he is ’ith the other. Jest seems a 
nat’ral gift. Un’ fight! He’d fight a circ’lur saw. 
He’s sure the best man ” 

Buck’s watchful eye here fell on a now familiar 
figure standing inside the swinging doors at the front 
end of the bar, near the entrance, in a peculiar atti- 
tude. A quick glance told him that Ben Warman 
had left the place and Buck immediately ascertained 
that he had gone over to “The Office,” a saloon two 
doors to the north, and found him there in the midst 
of a wordy altercation with several Mexicans. 

“Say, Ben, thet feller y’u laid out over ut the 
Palace is waitin’ fur y’u with a gun in his hand be- 
hind the swingin’ doors.” 

“All right,” carelessly returned Ben, grinning, “I’ve 
got a little argument on with muh mahogany friends 
over there ; old range dispute ; nuthin’ serious. Cached 
muh Colt over ’t the Palace; thought I w’u’dn’t run 
round too conspic’yus durin’ the daytime in town. 
But I don’t need one here. I’ll be lopin’ over in a 
few minutes.” 

Buck returned to the Palace. It was perhaps three 
minutes until the trouble with the Mexicans reached 
a point where the three simultaneously started for 
Warman. With a grin on his face he executed a few 
8 


TSen COarman 


quick movements and the assailants were piled on the 
floor. In a moment they were up, this time with 
knives in their hands and it began to look extremely 
serious for the happy-go-lucky youth. He needed his 
gun. Deftly side-stepping their attack, he suddenly 
darted out of the door, chuckling to himself as if 
struck with a richly humorous idea. 

The swinging doors of the Palace flew back with 
a slam, a blue-eyed apparition confronted the figure 
lying in wait and before he could blink Ben had jerked 
the gun from him. For an instant Ben stood poised. 

“Fur Gawd’s sake, don’t kill me!” cried the figure, 
shaking with fear. 

“Hell,” returned Warman, “I ain’t a goin’ t’ kill 
y’u. I wants this gun to shoot up some Greasers with.” 
And he was gone. 

“Don’t he beat hell!” exclaimed Dan Drillard to 
Buck, whose wide grin marvelously distorted his 
freckled, homely physiognomy. “Whoopee! Every- 
body drink!” 

Buck met Ben coming back to the Palace. “Some- 
one,” said Ben, shaking with suppressed merriment, 
“someone told the Greasers Ben Warman wuz a cornin’ 
back fur ’em un’ they vamosed. Not a sheepherder 
in sight.” 

Another round of drinks was found to be neces- 
sary to finish up the incident properly and they were 
taken in the Palace amid a tumultuous crowd. Ben 
Warman then gave an exhibition of “rolling the guns” 
that was truly marvelous. A cheer of admiration 
greeted him when he closed the performance. By 
four in the afternoon the rollicking, fighting, drink- 
ing, gambling, reckless son of the plains and his 
freckled partner had run through every form of dis- 
sipation the mining camp afforded and they were 
divers and many. 

Continuous drinking had brought them to a drunken 

9 


TStn KHatman 


state in which, arm in arm the better for mutual 
support, they swayed up the street, singing a ribald 
cowboy ditty, toward a crowd gathered on the side- 
walk. 

“Whaz mazzer here?” asked Warman, pushing his 
way lurchingly toward the center. 

A girl of fourteen or fifteen, slight of form and 
poorly dressed, was endeavoring to hold back an 
elderly, white-headed man from entering Bill Trent’s 
saloon. Her face was white and strained, her voice 
quavering, her whole slight body shivering with fear 
and apprehension as well as with exertion. 

“Come home, father, come home with me. Oh, 
come, father,” she repeated over and over. 

“Tut, tut, Mary, I ween Andy McLaughlin can 
take care of himself. I’m a mon still.” 

“Yes, yes, Daddy, but I want you to come home 
with me now.” 

The old Scotchman, after the death of his wife, 
had become addicted to drink. Mary, his only child, 
uneasy because of his absence had searched for him, 
found him within and had succeeded in drawing him 
out on the sidewalk. With desperate tenacity she 
clung to him for she feared the loss of their scanty 
savings, but what was infinitely worse, her father’s 
possible death in a protracted spree — of which he had 
been warned. 

Bill Trent, seeing that he must proceed yet further, 
stepped down and took hold of the old man’s arm. 
“Come on, Andy, send the girl home. What’s life 
if we can’t have a social glass once in a while?” 

He drew the old man toward the saloon door, Mary 
still clinging to his other side, ready to burst into 
, tears. 

“Daddy, don’t do it. Don’t do it. Oh, come, come, 
Daddy.” 

Ben Warman had gazed on the scene with blink- 
io 


"IBen barman 


ing, uncomprehending eyes for some moments; then, 
with the last words of the girl, the incident had dis- 
closed itself. As the full import of the situation 
came to him at last the fumes in his brain cleared. 
With one panther-like bound he had the strong form 
of Bill Trent in his grasp. The blue eyes, half-closed, 
bored into the small, pig-like orbs of the saloon man. 
The reckless devil-may-care air was gone, the drunken 
humor had died out of his face. 

“Y’u cowardly whelp,” his voice came low and in- 
tense, “take y’ur hands off thet man.” 

Not waiting to see if he was to be obeyed he tore 
Trent’s hand loose and thrust him back with a swing 
of his arm that was like the sweep of an iron bar, 
precipitating Trent against the door of his saloon, 
where, as he landed, the whisky seller’s hand was 
reaching to pull. He had not seen Warman make an 
extra move and yet in some fashion a six-shooter had 
been drawn and he was covered. 

“Now get back into y’ur hell hole un’ shut the 
door.” 

His face working with hate and passion, Trent 
arose and obeyed, closing the door with a bang. The 
tension lifted, Warman thrust his gun into its 
holster. 

“There, little girl, don’t cry; ut’s all right now,” 
murmured the man who could shoot, beat, rend and 
cared for no law, his voice soft and kindly, as he 
patted Mary on the shoulder. “Y’u lead the way 
un’ Daddy un’ me’ll go home ’ith y’u.” 

Andy was now in a grasp that precluded further 
argument and they proceeded. To the surprise of 
the young cowboy, when he next looked up, a young 
woman accompanied Mary, her arm thrown pro- 
tectingly about her. 

At the crucial moment of the incident Rose Gra- 
ham had passed along the street and, recognizing 


IBen (Elarman 


Mary, her little friend and pupil, hesitating not an 
instant, pressed her way to the girl and was about 
to speak when Warman’s voice anticipated her. She 
had looked upon him with but half-approving eyes, 
seeing that he had been drinking heavily. 

“Oh, I want to thank you again,” Mary cried, when 
they came to the McLaughlin home, seizing his hand 
impulsively. He drew it away in half embarrassment. 
Her gratefulness disconcerted him much more than 
the incident itself had done. After old Andy had 
been safely secured in the house Mary turned. 

“This is Rose Graham, Mr. ” 

“Warman.” 

“Mr. Warman.” 

Ben’s broad hat came off with a sweep and when 
he straightened himself after an elaborate bow he 
saw a maiden of nineteen or twenty, not richly, but 
tastefully dressed, a figure strong, yet graceful, dark 
brown, heavy hair; a face tinged with the flush of 
health, regular features, deep, dark brown eyes, verg- 
ing on black, large and serious ; cheeks rich with color, 
a mouth strong and sensitive; her whole personality 
holding an intangible charm. 

She saw a youth of twenty-three or twenty-four, six 
feet in height, picturesque in the regalia of the typi- 
cal cowboy. Behind these outward and more notice- 
able facts she saw a well-shaped head upon which 
clustered light-golden hair, a pair of frank blue eyes, 
a nose slightly Roman, a strong chin and mouth 
rather broad and straight lipped, revealing white, regu- 
lar teeth. 

She did not fail to notice also the evidence of dis- 
sipation in his eyes for it had been too recent. Bold- 
ness and recklessness also were too evident to be 
overlooked. It was a face full of possibilities for 
good or for evil and so far it was plainly in the wrong 
direction. Yet the frankness of the tanned, smooth- 
12 


IBcn JjQatmatt 


shaven face indicated a disposition naturally humor- 
ous, sunny, open and generous; a disposition that 
was at the same time altogether too prone to follow 
impulses and inclinations without thought. Through 
all of these characteristics there came the impression 
of self confidence and strength. For some reason 
the glance, or rather the look, between these two, this 
man and this woman, lingered until a deep impression 
was recorded. 

Ben’s habitual exaggerated gallantry toward the 
fair sex, as he had known them for years, he instinc- 
tively felt to be out of place. 

“I bid you good afternoon, Mr. Warman, and thank 
you for Mary and her father for your services. You 
played the part of a man and we will not forget it.” 
Her voice was low and musical. 

Ben’s ready tongue was silent for a moment, then 
he spoke with deference and respect. “It didn’t 
amount to nuthin’ but it seemed like someone had 
to do ’t. I’m sure glad to make y’ur acquaintance, 
Miss Graham.” 

He started to go but suddenly turned and asked of 
Mary permission to call again to see her father and 
herself, which was gratefully granted. 

Rose Graham’s serious eyes followed the swinging 
figure thoughtfully. Had she known then where Ben 
Warman went and what he did in the next half hour 
her eyes might have held a more friendly, at least 
a more believing, light. She had seen many of his 
kind during the past few years. He was, doubtless, 
like the common run and yet — an impression of some- 
thing deeper rather lingered. “At least,” she thought, 
“he saved Andy McLaughlin.” 

Ben Warman proceeded to every saloon in town 
and, calling the proprietor aside wherever possible, 
quietly gave orders that no liquor was to be sold or 
given to Andy McLaughlin under any circumstances. 
13 


TBett barman 


Leaning against the end of the bar in the Palace he 
perceived a man of big frame, some thirty-five years 
of age, black-haired, with an inscrutable dark, broad, 
smooth face, from which looked somber, deep-set eyes, 
glowing dully as if something burned behind them. 
He was well dressed and a beautiful diamond adorned 
his tie. Warman intuitively recognized Bart Conley. 

“My name’s Warman,” he said quietly. Conley 
maintained his habitual silence but regarded Ben in- 
quiringly. “Y’u’ll take notice un’ not let Andy Mc- 
Laughlin have anything to drink in y’ur place. I 
gives this notice uz a friend o’ the family.” 

It seemed for a time as though Conley would not 
answer at all, but, after calmly looking at Ben, the 
blue eyes meanwhile steadily returning the ex-prize 
fighter’s gaze, he said slowly and coldly: “I hear y’u 
givin’ the notice.” 

It was said in a tone that clearly indicated that 
Conley had heard of Warman and was hostile. This 
was true of both. Mutual sight and inspection now 
confirmed and instantly crystallized an antipathy al- 
ready vaguely formed from intuition, without reason 
yet strong and unmistakable, into eternal enmity. 
There are natures that clash the instant of contact and 
forever repel each other. 

“Y’u hear me givin’ the notice,” repeated Warman, 
“well, y’u run this layout; see thet the notice goes. 
Ef ut don’t I holds y’u personal responsible. Thet’s 
all.” And he calmly sauntered to the roulette wheel 
and dropped a coin on the double O. 

It was a daring speech to make to Bart Conley 
and the crowd of onlookers held their breath. But 
the big man simply followed the supple figure of Ben 
Warman with impassive face and eyes that betrayed 
nothing — unless there was a deepening of the fire 
behind them. 


14 


CHAPTER II 


THE BLOOD 

From 1881 to 1803 is a far cry; yet the thread of 
this narrative begins in that early time when Thomas 
Jefferson issued his proclamation against “sundry per- 
sons conspiring against Spain,” and that versatile 
enigma, Aaron Burr, with a new empire on his brain, 
floated down the Mississippi, only to surrender in the 
end; the time when the famous Lewis and Clark 
Expedition began the great journey wherein they 
followed up the yellow-mottled Missouri and down 
the kingly Oregon to the Pacific and revealed to the 
nation the limitless possibilities of the recently ac- 
quired empire of the Northwest; the time when the 
United States Government reached out still another 
long arm in the person of Zebulon Pike and planted 
the Stars and Stripes on Pike’s Peak and on the Rio 
Grande in the Southwest. 

In the fall of that year, out in the forests on the 
bank of the Ohio, at a small trading post, there as- 
sembled one day a small portion of the population of 
the then borderline of settlement. These hardy sons 
of the forest gathered from far and near for the 
occasion was one of festivity and recreation; a bar- 
becue, a day of sports and contests of skill and 
strength. They came in the motley garb of the 
hunter, the trapper, guide, settler, adventurer and 
Indian fighter. 

“Do you reckon he’ll come ?” inquired Samps Waters 
of Jerry Jackson, as, squatting, he whittled lazily 
at a stick with his hunting knife. 

“Come! Course he’ll come. It’s as sure as that 
15 


15tn maimm 


an Indian’ll kill/’ responded the lank woodsman. “We 
know he heard and that’s enough.” 

“Wall, the time has come,” returned Samps. 

“Yes, and here comes the man,” rejoined Jerry, 
hastily rising to his lank six feet. His action was 
followed by a score or more of the gathering who 
had been lounging about on the ground. 

Striding in with long rifle, powder horn, hunting 
knife, the usual accoutrements of the time, his dress 
of buckskin, his foot-covering the moccasin, came 
one who was greeted with vociferous shouts from his 
lusty-lunged fellows. 

Six feet in height, perfectly molded, the lines of 
the gladiator were apparent in his figure to the most 
casual glance. The round, corded neck, rising like 
a column out of the deerskin jacket, betokened the 
whole splendid physique; suggested muscles hard as 
oak and sinews of whip-cord. His coon-skin cap 
rested upon a mass of light brown, almost golden 
hair that, clustered and heavy, fell upon his shoul- 
ders. Many an Indian had passed to the Happy Hunt- 
ing Ground while seeking the glory of taking the 
scalp-locks of this man. The face beneath the cap 
of fur, in spite of wind and sun, possessed a fair 
complexion, eyes intensely blue, keen and bold ; strong 
teeth, gleaming as he laughed response to many greet- 
ings; a nose Roman, square jaws supported by the 
muscle-wrapped throat, suggestive of the rending 
power of the panther. 

The word passed from mouth to mouth : “Ben 
Warman’s here. He’s here.” Ben Warman it was; 
Ben Warman who was to become one of the nine 
frontiersmen, members of that daring band which 
was in the following year to begin its explorations 
of that tremendous, unknown country to the North- 
west; was to travel by boat and horse and foot eight 
thousand miles and whose endeavors were to end in 
16 


'IBett iKHarman 


glorious fruition for the United States of America; 
Ben Warman, the boldest woodsman of the frontier, 
the best guide on the Ohio, the wildest adventurer 
in a circuit of a hundred miles; who, at twenty-five 
years of age, was the best shot, the most deadly knife- 
man, the fastest runner, the hardest drinker, the luck- 
iest gambler in all that wild waste of country; the 
hero of a score of stories of Indian battles, hand to 
hand conflicts, marvelous escapes, whisky saturnalias 
and gambling bouts; wild and passionate and fierce, 
fearing neither God, devil, man, woman, beast or law ; 
yet, sunny-tempered, generous and true as steel. 

Of the happenings of that day it is not within the 
province of this story to tell. It is simply to be writ- 
ten that in every event in which Ben Warman entered 
the lists he was easily successful. The long rifle and 
deadly knife were made to do his will as if instinct 
with life and a part of himself. The center of blazed- 
tree targets recorded his unerring accuracy and pre- 
cision. Yet all seemed carelessly done, there was 
no effort, no striving, always utter confidence and 
reserve power. 

One event, however, must be briefly recorded. But 
one man, Long Carter, had ventured to offer himself 
as a contestant against Ben Warman in the wrestling 
bout. As the time approached for this event sup- 
pressed excitement was noticeable among the undem- 
onstrative frontiersmen and low-voiced questions and 
comments were rife. 

Between Long Carter and Ben Warman long enmity 
had existed, a feud running back through several 
years. Its inception no man knew save the two prin- 
cipals; but its long standing and virulence was fa- 
miliar to every man on the border and many a camp- 
fire and fire-side had been enlivened with tales of ex- 
planation, conjecture and prophecy that grew in mys- 
tery and significance. All felt the culmination to be 
1 7 


TBen SHatman 


at hand, for had not Long Carter issued his defiance 
up and down the river for months and announced 
that no man should deny his superiority as a wrestler, 
or, if denying, make the denial good? And had not 
Ben Warman traveled a hundred miles on foot to 
answer the call? 

In the midst of the circling men the contestants 
stood ready for action. The face of Long Carter 
scowled with hate, while the countenance of Ben 
Warman was lighted with a scornful smile, yet giv- 
ing the impression of adamantine determination. And 
those who noticed closely saw his blue eyes slowly 
turn to gray. For a few moments they crouched 
and circled, then grappled. For many minutes they 
strove silently, .mightily, with the advantage varying 
slightly from one to the other. 

The strain upon the contestants was intense but 
not more so than upon the senses of the watchers. 
The deep breathing of the battlers was the only sound. 
They suddenly and simultaneously filled their great 
lungs to the uttermost and shut their drawn lips. Even 
breath was suspended. For long moments they stood 
poised as though carved of stone or bronze. It was 
the supreme effort, strength fighting strength to im- 
mobility. Then Carter’s breath burst forth and he 
went down with tremendous force. 

In an instant he was up and rushed ferociously, his 
face black with passion and hate, his lips snarling 
defiance and blasphemy. Throwing out his long arm, 
with its brawny hand, his fingers, like steel clutches, 
buried themselves in the face of his antagonist. Voices 
rose in a sharp outcry of warning and protests. To 
maim was to break the one rule of the game which 
must not be violated. 

Luckily for Warman the grasp had missed its real 
object, for that brutal thumb had sought to gouge the 
eye. The moment he realized the treacherous act 
18 


“Bett iKHarmatt 


Warman’s face seemed to radiate flame, the gray 
eyes flashed, the body electrified. Instantly releasing 
his right hand he drove a piston like blow into Car- 
ter’s face, causing him to tear loose his fingers. 

What then followed none could ever describe with 
exactness. Carter’s wrists were somehow grasped 
with hands of brass supported by arms of steel. The 
golden-haired gladiator then whirled his back to his 
foe, twisting Carter’s hands and arms over his head 
as he turned. There was a quick crouch, a swelling 
and heaving, then a straightening and contraction of 
every muscle of that superb frame and Carter was 
pulled headlong over his enemy’s back, raised high 
in air and flung twice his length. He crashed to earth 
upon his head and shoulder and lay still. The con- 
test was ended. Ben Warman stood over his prostrate 
foe, the fire of battle and victory blazing from his 
countenance. 

The raging lion aroused in Ben Warman’s breast 
that day subsided not until it had run its course 
through every form of reckless venture, wild dissipa- 
tion and lawless passion known to the western border. 
Men of that type have ever occupied the extreme 
battle grounds of civilization. The advancing line of 
settlement was edged by highly tempered human 
steel. 

Ben Warman lived his life to but two score and 
five years and gave it to his people and his country 
in an Indian battle. It is recorded that the marvelous 
deeds of bravery and prowess he therein executed 
were sung in story and song. 

Among his effects was a parchment and a small 
arrow-head of flint with peculiar designs upon it. 
The writing on the parchment was of some length, 
in part as follows : 


"I, Benj. Warman, make this statement in writing 
19 


Tgen ©Harman 


that the things therein contained may remain when 
memory hath departed. (Here followed a rough, de- 
scriptive account in detail of that great journey which 
he had taken with Lewis and Clark.) The writing 
concluded thus: 

‘‘On our way back, when perhaps half the distance 
had been journeyed, when we had returned through 
the Pass, which was named Clark’s Pass, over the 
great mountains, our division under Captain Clark 
veered much to the south while Captain Lewis and 
the rest went to the north, in order that the two ways 
might be explored and record made thereof. 

“I did then obtain leave from Captain Clark to 
go still farther to the south alone, which I did, first 
passing a short range of mountains whose tops bore 
the appearance at a distance of the teeth of a bear. 
Beyond these I came to still another range, where I 
did meet Indians of the Tribe named Shoshones, to 
which tribe belonged the Indian woman, of much 
knowledge and faithfulness, who went as guide for 
the great expedition to the Pacific and back with 
them, rendering great service, as she alone at times 
knew where we were and how we were to go onward. 
Also did she save us from an attack by a war party 
of her people. She was the wife of Toussaint Cha- 
boneau, interpreter for our Captains, and was named 
Sacajawea, meaning Bird Woman. 

“It was by her word and a token, a small arrow- 
head of flint upon which was wrought a curious de- 
sign, which she gave me, that I was able to travel 
safely alone among her people and through the coun- 
try to the south that I might explore. 

“I then passed, still traveling south and somewhat 
westward, into a most wild and beautiful country of 
vast parks, deep chasms, high peaks, yellow stones 
and strange places where steam and hot water did 
spout from the earth many feet high, the water and 
20 


IBett barman 


vapor having a strong odor of sulphur. There were 
many wild animals of every kind. 

“Here I tarried for some time, marveling more and 
more at the wonderful works of nature, so strange 
and unusual that when I told my comrades on my 
return of what I had seen they believed me not or 
thought that I dreamed. 

“When I had returned out of the wonderland back 
to the mountains of the Shoshones I came, one day, 
after passing through a gorge with steep walls, to 
the bed of a shallow stream whose waters were as 
clear as the crystal, where, to my great excitement, I 
found many nuggets of gold, a pocket full of which I 
gathered and took with me. Not being able to tarry, 
being a month behind the band, whom I must over- 
take or travel alone the two thousand miles back to 
the Ohio, I proceeded on my way, meeting again the 
Indian woman, Sacajawea, who was returning to her 
people, her service ended. 

“To her I told of my travels and of what I had 
seen and which she too had seen. And also did I 
tell her of the gold and where it was; of which she 
also knew; and that I had hewn my name into the 
stone of the wall of a chasm from which the way 
to the bed of the gold stream might be known, and 
also that, should I live and be of sound health, I should 
return in later years and possess myself of the won- 
derful wealth which I there saw. 

“Benj. Warman.” 

Ben Warman had married and sired a son, Thomas 
Warman. And unto that son was born a son, James 
Warman. The son and grandson of Ben Warman 
were reared and educated in the East with all the 
care that could be centered upon them. And they 
lived peaceful and well ordered lives as parents, 
neighbors and citizens. 


21 


“Ben ©Harman 


The grandson, James Warman, the third generation 
of the fighting, drinking, gambling, cursing, lawless, 
destructive backwoodsman, married the gentle, high- 
spirited, fine-principled Olive Thacher, the seventh 
generation of the peaceful, sober, moral, praying, law- 
abiding, constructive Puritan. 

Unto these two, in the year 1858, was born a son. 
And lo ! the great grandsire of the West was his 
prototype ; the great grandson, the exact reproduction 
of the great grandsire; perfect-bodied, blue-eyed and 
golden-haired. And they named him Ben Warman. 
A railroad accident left him parentless at thirteen 
years of age. At fourteen he charmed his play fel- 
lows with his sunny temperament and fought them 
with gray-eyed intensity; appalled his instructors, de- 
fied those under whose control he had been placed 
and then disappeared never to return. With him he 
took nothing but the arrow-head of flint and the 
parchment. 

The' blood of his great grandsire led Ben Warman, 
as direct as flies the homing pigeon, to the great West, 
the borderland; among those who, in this latter day, 
out on the treeless prairies, the sage-brush plains, 
the snow-capped mountains and the hot-sanded desert, 
instead of the primaeval forests of the early century, 
constitute the thin, steel edge, that ever cuts narrower 
and narrower the vastness of the wilderness and gives 
region upon region to civilization. 

For four years the lad roamed that line, learning 
its hardships and temptations, mingling in its dangers 
and vices, attending the hardening school of experi- 
ence. But meanwhile he drank into the depths of 
his soul that which his blood craved — its wild free- 
dom, its splendid independence, its deathless courage, 
the immensity of the plains, the sweep of the star- 
studded firmament, the grandeur of the mountains, 
the glorious breadth, beauty and power of nature. 

22 


"ISctt ff&arman 


One day, at eighteen years of age, he rode into the 
Bar-O ranch in central Wyoming and became a cow- 
boy. During the five following years he ran swiftly to 
his inevitable extreme. Freedom became lawlessness ; 
liberty, license; independence, defiance; courage, ag- 
gression ; opportunity, gratification. 

The rising sun of a July morning, 1881, found him 
loping toward Diorite. And as he rode, Ben Warman 
met his old partner of the Bar-O, Buck Carson. 


*3 


CHAPTER III 


NEW VOICES AND THE GODDESS OP CHANCE 

The proprietor of the Pacific, the one rooming and 
eating house dignified with the name of hotel, Hank 
Gibbs, was a middle-sized, middle-aged man, much in- 
clined to rotundity of form and alarmingly elliptical as 
to his legs. He had been cowboy, horse wrangler, and 
liveryman in the days before the hotel and obesity 
overtook him. His twinkling brown eyes, smooth, fat 
face and double chin and a certain rude wit and oddity, 
accentuated by a hesitancy of speech which caused oc- 
casional words to lurk for an uncertain time in his 
throat and then snap forth with particular emphasis, 
made his hostelry quite popular. Then again every- 
body felt free to joke at him as well as with him, gen- 
erally drawing from him a pungent reply. 

Hence it was natural for Buck, after the boys had 
scrawled their signatures on a discouraged-looking reg- 
ister, never closed, to say: 

“Hank, why in thunder do y’u call y’ur hotel the 
Pacific, up here on the continental divide? Y’u must 
o’ hed loco weed mixed ’ith y’ur terbaccer.” 

“It might be fur the same reason, I reckon, thet I 
gave another f-f-fool thet asked me a q-q-question th’ 
other day — why we called ut thirty miles t’ Cowtown. 
He’d come in on a dusty day and thought it wuz fifty. 
I told him I didn’t know onless it wuz on account of 
the d-d-d-distance. I might git a leetle loco weed 
mixed ’ith m’ smokin’ oncet in a while, but I knows 
s-s-some people close to, ’thout bein’ personal any, 
which it ’ud do him good ef he’d git some b-b-brains 
mixed ’ith his t-t-talk.” 


24 


'Bzn OHatman 


“You clean m’ boots,” responded Buck airily. 

“Guess it’s my turn,” was Hank’s quick rejoinder. 

“Well, Buck,” drawled Ben, “quit? Got a-plenty?” 

In the way of getting even through Buck’s instru- 
mentality there shortly after mysteriously appeared on 
the mirror back of the hotel bar a sign : “B-B-B-But- 
termilk.” 

After supper the partners sat out on the sidewalk in 
front of the hotel, where, after engaging in some desul- 
tory talk, they lapsed into silence. The hotel was on a 
corner and a magnificent panorama was visible — north, 
east, and west. An unaccountable mood appeared to 
have taken possession of Ben Warman, who seemed 
more inclined to think than to talk. He sat with mus- 
ing eyes looking out upon the western heavens be- 
yond Vulcan as the sun sank to rest, the while absent- 
mindedly fingering an arrow-head of flint, curiously 
marked, secured to the leather thong that hung from 
his watch. It was the one and only token, excepting 
an old parchment, he had kept to link him with his 
past. They had told him they had once belonged to 
his great grandsire. 

Perhaps it was the change of occupation and subse- 
quent life which he was to initiate on the morrow, 
leaving finally his partner ; perhaps it was the sound of 
a low, musical voice he had heard that day and the 
light of dark, grave eyes with a question in their 
depths, as they studied him so steadily; whatever it 
was that possessed the reckless young cowboy, he 
shrugged his shoulders and shook it off as the clang of 
a piano and the vibrant cry of the accompanying violin 
struck up a rapid movement with a rythmic swing and 
the lights of the Palace blazed invitingly. He sprang 
suddenly to his feet. 

“Come on, Buck, m’pile’s gettin’ low. Let’s see how 
the luck runs to-night.” 

Luck, fate, that mysterious unknown ruler of the 
25 


ISzn cHUarman 


turn of the wheel and the card — the Goddess of 
Chance — who sets fire to man’s blood, holding ever 
before his eyes the golden lure, until, not the wealth 
but the pursuit becomes a consuming passion ; who to- 
night smiles upon a favorite and to-morrow turns her 
face from him ; who makes but to break the gambler ; 
this was the Goddess before whose shrine of men’s 
white bones, concealed with a cloth of gold, Ben War- 
man sat and worshiped this night. And, as many 
times before, she bestowed upon this fair youth her 
most dazzling smile. 

Roulette, faro, poker, all increased his holdings, and 
when the gray dawn of morning made ghastly the 
artificial lights of the saloon, he rose, his eyes bright 
and glittering, the winner of five hundred dollars. 
Turning to Bart Conley, whose dark face was as in- 
scrutable and impassive as usual, he said : 

“Now, tuh kind o’ wind this sittin’ up proper and 
git ’ur blood to circulatin’, I bets y’u five hundred 
agin the same on the flip of a coin.” And he flung a 
bundle of currency and gold coin on the table. There 
was an undernote of challenge in the act. 

“Done,” returned Conley impassively, covering the 
amount. 

“What’ll y’u take?” 

“Tails,” chose Conley. 

“Good !” was Ben’s quick response. All of the men 
in the house gathered to watch the encounter of reck- 
less play. 

“Let her whirl,” said Ben to one of the night’s 
players. 

The glittering coin spun upward. 

“She stayed up seven minutes,” explained the ex- 
cited Buck later. 

Eyes strained as it fell, bounced and rolled, finally 
toppling over, head up. 

Ben Warman swept up, folded, and pocketed one 
26 


15 en axHarman 


thousand dollars. Conley again watched the figure of 
the cowboy as he left the place, showing no emotion, 
the perfect gambler; but behind the somber eyes the 
smoldering fire glowed with a heat that some day must 
blaze forth. 

When they had passed outside Buck answered: 
“What?” as Ben said: “Here, Buck.” Turning, he 
beheld Ben’s hand stretched out holding a bunch of 
gold and currency. 

“What t’is ?” 

“Five hundred, o’ course — half.” 

“No y’u don’t, Ben. I’m goin’ back to m’ job. Y’u 
ain’t. Y’u need ut anytime.” And Buck stubbornly 
refused to touch a dollar. 

The parting of the two men was undemonstrative, 
but it was plain that an undertow of feeling strained 
strongly against the barriers of reserve. 

“Buck, s’long. Y’u’ve ben the best friend I’ve had.” 

“Aw, g’wan,” was the sympathetic response. “But I 
sure did hitch t’ y’u, Ben, from the start, an’ I ain’t 
hed no reason to kick over the tugs. Y’u won’t furgit 
th’ trail t’ th’ Bar-O, will y’u, Ben?” 

“Y’u c’n put all y’ur money on thet bet ’un throw 
y’ur gun on the pile, besides,” replied Ben heartily. 
“Well, so-long, Buck.” 

They shook hands and Buck swung into the saddle. 
It was necessary to relieve the situation, and Ben 
slyly poked the barrel of his six-gun into the part of 
the anatomy of Buck’s Pinto where it would do the 
most good, and for the next two minutes the sandy 
haired cowboy was busy holding his seat on the pitch- 
ing cyclone. 

“She jumps so high she looks like a hawk,” re- 
marked Ben to the bystanders. 

Buck was trying to shake his fist and poured forth 
a string of expletives and epithets at his grinning part- 
ner. Then, the Pinto suddenly running like a jack- 
27 


15 sn ISJarman 


rabbit, he sped out on the trail for the Bar-O, whoop- 
ing and swinging his sombrero as a last salutation. 

“Thet pony’s sure onwindin’ himself. He cun cer- 
tain open and shut,” remarked Ben, more to himself 
than to the onlookers, as he turned abruptly and en- 
tered a rambling building which bore a tremendous 
sign notifying the world that it was prepared to fur- 
nish sundry and various items to the universe. After 
a time he came forth, carrying a large bundle, and 
disappeared into the hotel from which he at length 
emerged, to all outward appearance, a different man. 
The chaps, spurs, and high-heeled boots were missing. 
The man who had gone in was a cowboy; the man 
who came out was a miner, with corduroy trousers 
tucked in strong, broad-heeled, laced miner’s boots. 
The familiar belt, holster, and gun, however, still hung 
loosely, drooping below his right hip. The absence of 
the woolly, and, to say the least, awkward chaps gave 
an added height and gracefulness to the easy, swinging 
figure. The too bountiful clusters of hair next re- 
ceived attention. 

“How’ll y’u have y’ur hair cut?” asked the barber. 

“Off,” was the short but comprehensive reply. 

The hair came off, revealing a finely molded head 
covered with close-lying, almost golden, clusters that 
by no means did his appearance harm. This done, he 
proceeded to the hotel, brought out a chair, and depos- 
ited himself in a leaning attitude against the side of 
the building where his eye could run out to the distant 
ranges, some of them so far away as to form an indis- 
tinct blue blur, and where he could be alone. For 
many hours the distant scenery seemed to absorb his 
thought. 


28 


CHAPTER IV 


ON TENDENCIES IN RECESSION 

Homer Graham, familiarly known as “Prof,” was a 
victim of exclusively frontal development. His life 
had been spent in the acquirement of book lore, knowl- 
edge of the widest range, and in philosophical reflec- 
tion. And, as it was to the utter neglect and exclusion 
of the growth of the posterior brain, the motive power, 
his equilibrium had been destroyed; in fact, he had 
never balanced. He was therefore a marvel of vision- 
ary inefficiency. Never realizing the value of an idea, 
except in its abstractness, or of a dollar, he had made 
a failure of life at sixty years so far as position, rec- 
ognition, and material welfare were concerned. 

In company with his fourteen-year-old motherless 
daughter he had drifted into Diorite some three years 
before. To keep the wolf from the door, he had se- 
cured the charge of the public school which payed 
quite liberally — sufficient for the daily needs of his 
daughter and himself. Thus three years had passed, 
the Professor and his daughter Rose becoming well 
known to the people of the camp and surrounding 
country. For Rose Graham the camp would have 
fought as one man. 

Intellectually conscious of his failings, the Profes- 
sor had taken the utmost pains with the education of 
his child. Yet with it all was mingled so much of the 
practical which he himself lacked that at an early age 
she had become competent and self-reliant, taking 
charge of their household, haridling their small finan- 
cial matters, and, as the years passed, directed her 
29 


'Ben 02Jatman 


father in many of the common affairs of life. She 
had an occasional scholar in music and was tutoress to 
several girls who had outgrown the limited grades of 
the local school. 

The father, realizing the void in her life, had sought 
to fill as far as possible the place of the mother. 
Rose’s “mothering” of her visionary father, whose in- 
efficiency she realized, strengthened the ties of love all 
the more. 

The Professor had by no means given up hope of 
fame, wealth, and position; nor was he cast down or 
despondent. The more remote and hopeless the fulfill- 
ment of his ardent expectations became, the more 
buoyant and optimistic grew his views, until his lan- 
guage at times became gradiloquent. Ever seeing the 
theoretical, the most common subjects and incidents 
would call forth a scientific and philosophical disser- 
tation. Interesting they always were, and sometimes 
he struck a note of deep truth and real eloquence. 
But for the most part his comments and discursive 
offerings were flighty, fanciful, and extravagant. 

Rose was well aware of her father’s oddities and 
eccentricities, but seeing that they gave him pleasure 
and did no harm, that they, in a way, satisfied the 
cravings of his mind, did not seek to restrain him. 
Indeed, at times, his odd, brilliant, and ofttimes witty 
and humorous comments, the saving grace of humor, 
enlivened their existence. The old scholar himself ap- 
preciated the ridiculous side of himself, and joined 
Rose in frequent unrestrained outbursts of merriment. 

Rose was developing and rounding mentally and 
physically into a girl- woman of attractive personality, 
strength of character, and splendid disposition. The 
outdoor life, long rides in the exhilarating air and sun- 
light, frequent rambles with her father in his search 
for the curious in nature and its geological mysteries, 
had given her a body of perfect health, strong and 
30 


TBen ©Barman 


well-proportioned, a skin of velvet brown and rich 
blood revealed by the dusky rose in her cheeks. 

Father and daughter were sitting at home the even- 
ing of the day of Andy McLaughlin’s rescue, concern- 
ing which Rose had given him the details. 

“Mr. Warman asked permission to call at Mc- 
Laughlin’s again,” Rose was saying, “and it is possible 
he might ask to call here.” 

The Professor removed his glasses and wiped them 
absent-mindedly. “Warman? Warman? Daughter, 
it seems to me I heard that name to-day. Let me see. 
Yes, yes. That was it. Something not very favorable. 
Drinking, gambling, fighting, I think it was; general 
dissipation were the reports. Bad thing, very unwise. 
Habits ” 

“I am sure he is not all bad,” interrupted Rose. “He 
certainly is brave, and he showed something of good 
when he rescued poor old Andy.” 

“Doubtless correct. You are probably right, my 
dear. Strange how underlying qualities will appear at 
unexpected times.” 

“There is something about him, when you see him, 
that suggests latent possibilities,” added Rose. 

“Remarkable, indeed, how qualities that could, if 
given opportunity — no ; if awakened — rise even to 
greatness, are sometimes smothered and crowded out 
of the character; no, not destroyed, they never die, but 
submerged. Tendencies of a stock are sometimes in 
recession for generations to reappear when least an- 
ticipated, and a reversion occurs to the original. It 
may be a lower, it may be a higher type. Mendel’s 
Law ” 

“Until,” mused the girl aloud, “he demeans himself 
in my presence or to my personal knowledge, I shall 
not refuse to see him — if he comes.” 


31 


CHAPTER V 


AS TO THE BREAKING OF HORSES AND PROMISES 

While Rose was at McLaughlin’s the next after- 
noon Ben Warman came. Andy had recovered, and 
expressed his deep thanks to his rescuer who, in con- 
fusion, deprecated the service. As they talked, the 
young Mary watched the face of the stalwart young 
man and then and there was born a faith and trust in 
him that was to endure when that of others was to 
falter. Rose was surprised at his changed appear- 
ance, and mentally admitted that it was an improve- 
ment. 

“If only his eyes did not show dissipation,” she 
thought, not knowing that those eyes had not closed 
in sleep the preceding night. 

“Cun I walk home ’ith y’u ?” asked Ben, as they de- 
parted. 

After a moment’s delay for consideration, which 
Ben did not fail to notice, she answered in the affirma- 
tive. 

“Why this transformation in your attire, Mr. War- 
man?” she smilingly inquired, as they walked. “Yes- 
terday you were a cowboy, to-day ” 

“T’day and from now on, Miss Graham, I’m a pros- 
pector an’ miner. Five years is a long time t’ride the 
range. Minin’ hez possibilities.” 

To her surprise, his language seemed to have un- 
consciously undergone somewhat of reformation, drop- 
ping just a little of the abbreviated twang of the cow- 
boy. Something in this girl reached back into the 
deeps and called forth better things. 

32 


15 en iHJarman 


“You are — looking for — possibilities? You are 
changing your life ?” she inquired slowly, as if feeling 
her way. 

“Y — yes ,” he replied, still more slowly, wondering 
if she meant anything. As to whether this girl knew 
anything of his life or habits he had not up till this 
moment considered. He flushed as he thought she 
might have heard something. He had concealed noth- 
ing, his dissipations were open here as elsewhere. He 
had never thought of concealing them. 

“Meanin’ muh occupation,” he went on, “yes. Muh 
life — well, y’u probably know what the life of most 
of us is in the West. This is a wild country an' the 
men — fit the country.” 

“In other words, they allow circumstances and in- 
clinations to control them?” 

“I reckon y’u’ve stated ut ’bout c’rect,” he admitted. 

“But why should not strong men control circum- 
stances, at least their own attitude toward them?” 

There was a long pause before he spoke : “I guess 
they don’t think.” 

Turning to him suddenly, she asked: “How long 
have you been in the West?” 

“ ’Bout ten years.” 

“You are a man of good intelligence, if not educa- 
tion,” she looked sidewise at him a moment, and 
paused as if hoping the last phrase would meet with 
some response in affirmation or negation, but no inter- 
ruption coming, she continued : “and of great physical 
strength and endurance.” Ben grinned. “The West 
is full of opportunities, good as well as bad. What 
have you accomplished in these ten years ?” 

A longer pause. When she looked up at him her 
dark eyes saw that his face had flushed through the 
tan. 

“Nuthin’ — nothing, Miss Graham; worse than noth- 
ing. I’ve wasted ’em.” 


33 


16en ©[Jarman 


“That’s bad ; but there is an old saying that an hon- 
est confession is good for the soul.” 

“Nobody hez asked me such a question in the last 
ten years. I hadn’t even thought t’ ask ut o’ m’self.” 

“Which proves you so thoughtless that you ought to 
be censured — by yourself.” 

“I’ve heard tell o’ such a thing uz crim’nal careless- 
ness. So I pleads guilty to the charge and throws 
m’self on the mercy o’ the court.” And he smiled so 
frankly and engagingly that Rose found herself search- 
ing in her mind for mitigating circumstances. 

“The Scriptures say: Judge not that ye be not 
judged, or something to that effect, and I’m not going 
to be your judge or impose any sentence whatever,” 
she replied gravely, with just a trifle of reserve creep- 
ing into her tone ; for it suddenly occurred to her that 
the conversation was becoming entirely too personal 
for so short an acquaintance. And yet she herself had 
led it. But she had learned directness in the West. 
“Why not sentence yourself?” 

“Miss Graham, to be plumb honest, I’d have tuh be 
purty severe. Jest now I can’t think uh anything hard 
enough.” 

“Then I’ll make a suggestion,” she said rapidly, as 
if determining on a sudden course rather in defiance 
of normal habit. She spoke naively yet with a touch 
of seriousness which impressed him. “Sentence your- 
self to hard work for a term of years and — study and 
— self-control, until you have made up for what you 
have wasted and achieved those things which you could 
and should have accomplished.” 

“What do y’u suggest I do first?” he inquired, inter- 
ested. 

There was a long moment of silence ; then she spoke : 
“You are young. Save your youth.” 

“What y’u mean?” he asked quickly, regarding her 
attentively and with not a little of apprehension. 

34 


'Ben (KHarman 


She spoke yet more slowly. “I know something of 
the adventurous life men lead in the West — this glori- 
ous West that could be made to do so much,” she in- 
terpolated earnestly, “and I presume that you — are not 
an exception. You drink?” 

“Yes.” 

“Gamble?” 

“Yes ” 

“Fight?” 

“Some,” he replied, a smile twitching the comers of 
his mouth. 

“Then why not commence there and abandon these 
things ? Are they so attractive ?” 

A new expression had come to Ben’s face during 
the catechism — puzzling, wondering, thoughtful. 
“Miss Graham,” he replied, at length, “while y’u can’t 
understand ut, at times they are. Again, at other 
times, like — now, they seem more’n coarse, they’re 
disgustin’. I hadn’t thought uv ut before.” 

“Thoughtlessness again.” 

“Yeh. Y’ur sentence, uz fur uz it goes, I s’pose 
thur’d be more tuh foller later, means a mighty big 
change and w’u’dn’t be easy. A man needn’t drink an’ 
he needn’t gamble, but sometimes he has t’ fight — ef 
he’s a man.” 

“That may be true. I think I can appreciate that.” 

“Uz tuh the first two, Miss Graham, hev y’u ever 
seen a wild hoss runnin’ loose on the plains ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did y’u ever see one bein’ broke?” 

“I have.” 

“Well, thur’s a strain in the wild hoss, somethin’ in 
the blood, thet fights agin — against control. Sech a 
hoss’ll sometimes run over a precipice ur against a 
rock, anything, sooner’n be conquered. It’s the desire 
fur freedom — to run in plumb, free liberty. To break 
some hosses,” he lapsed into the full cowboy speech, 

35 


TBen M3 atm an 


“y’u hev tuh rope ’em, throw ’em, blindfold ’em, an’ 
when y’u’re on give ’em thur sight an’ then ride ’em till 
another mile’d kill ’em.” 

“But, until broken, they are of no service,” she an- 
swered quickly. 

“Thet’s sure true,” responded Ben seriously, after a 
short study of the statement as if it presented a new 
view. “Then after they’re broke the wild blood’s still 
thur an’ the whole fight hez tuh be gone through ’ith 
again. I’ve broke many an outlaw hoss, but I never 
fought one to a finish but what I felt sorry fur the 
brute; never c’u’d beat ’em up like some uh the boys, 
cause ut wuz in thur blood.” 

“The quality of mercy — a good heart,” thought 
Rose. Then she spoke: “Those horses which gave 
the most trouble, that were the hardest to conquer, 
did they not eventually become the best cow-ponies — 
the ones with the best bottom and speed ?” 

“They sure did. They c’u’d do wonders. They hed 
the spirit in ’em,” he responded enthusiastically. “Miss 
Graham, I’m a wild hoss — horse. I’ve got ut in the 
blood somehow; always had ut. I might conquer ut 
once, the next time ut might git me.” 

“The sentence, then, so far as suggested,” she re- 
plied insistently clinging to the central idea, “would 
mean that you would have to ride and conquer the wild 
tendencies in your blood as you conquer an outlaw 
horse. Your will can conquer any outlaw of your 
nature just as, I have no doubt, you can ride any ani- 
mal.” 

A glint came into the blue eyes. “I ain’t ever saw 
— seen the horse I c’u’dn’t ride.” The very suggestion 
of conflict roused the spirit of the man beside her. She 
saw this spirit, and kept it in mind ; though, as she 
glanced, the hard, invincible expression she caught 
caused her to feel just a little afraid of him. 

“You’d hate to have a horse throw you?” 

36 


'Ben (DOatman 


"‘It’d sure hurt m’pride a heap.” 

“Then put your pride back of your will and conquer 
yourself.” 

“I won’t promise y’u, Miss Graham.” His face 
lighted attractively. “I’d like tuh know the rest uh 
the sentence, though.” 

“Sufficient unto the day is the duty thereof. The 
rest of the sentence should wait until the first part has 
at least been entered upon. I do not want you to 
promise me; promise yourself.” 

“Thet w’u’dn’t make no difference, uz I see ut. I’d 
hev to keep the promise jest the same. An’ I’d do ut, 
ur — bust a lung,” he concluded, with emphasis. 

“Don’t promise yourself even until you are ready. 
But what will you do in the meantime ?” 

“I’ll promise m’self to think about promisin’ m’self 
to cut out the drinkin’ an’ gamblin’, mebbe, and — some 
uh the fightin’ ; I might hev to fight, y’u know.” 

“If you do promise and don’t ‘bust a lung,’” she 
replied archly, “it might mean much. Remember, the 
horses hardest to conquer could do wonders. You 
might do great things.” 

They had long since reached the Graham home and 
stood at the door-step, looking out over the swelling 
ocean of plain to the eastward and to the snow-tipped 
cone of Vulcan to the northwest, with his irregular 
coverings of black timber. On one of his bare, brown 
slopes a round patch of green “quakin’ asps” rested 
like an emerald. 

A wagon approached the house and beside it walked 
the Professor, hat off and wiping his beaming face. 
Rose greeted him : “Father, this is Mr. Warman ; my 
father, Mr. Warman.” 

The Professor absent-mindedly held out his hat to 
Ben, who stood nonplussed for a moment. But the old 
scholar, suddenly covered with confusion and then 
laughing, in which he was joined by Rose and Ben, 

37 


15m MJarmatt 


hastily deposited his hat, hind end before, on his per- 
spiring head and again extended his hand in greeting. 

“I’ve found a fine ornament for the front door 
yard,” he announced gaily; “a huge, smooth rock, al- 
most perfectly round.” 

“Can’t back the wagon in there, Professor,” said 
the driver, as the scholar indicated the spot where he 
wished the bowlder unloaded. 

The Professor’s face showed great dismay. “Why, 
that’s bad. Must have it right there. We can’t pos- 
sibly lift it or even roll it. I’ll get a couple more men.” 
And he started hastily away. 

He was stopped by Ben’s drawl. “I think, mebbe, I 
cun put ut where y’u want ut, Professor.” 

“Why, my dear sir, it’s impossible. It would break 
your back, sir. It must weigh over two hundred 
pounds.” 

“Is thet all?” queried Ben carelessly, as he walked 
to the open end of the wagon. Locking his arms about 
the bowlder, his fingers interlaced, he slid it to the end 
of the wagon and, bracing himself, stood clear. The 
rounded muscles of his splendid, lithe body swelled 
and held. Walking slowly but steadily, he dropped the 
bowlder at the spot the Professor had indicated, some 
fifteen feet from the wagon. It was almost a giant’s 
piece of work, yet the comparative ease with which he 
accomplished it struck the spectators with amazement. 
The Professor adjusted his glasses and looked the 
young miner over, as if he were some new specimen of 
rock. 

“Wonderful ! wonderful ! Who would have thought 
the human frame ” 

Stepping up to Ben he felt of his arms and chest 
as if he were examining a piece of machinery. His 
subject stood the inspection with laughing eyes. He 
was thoroughly amused. 

“Thet’s not hard,” said Ben presently, “compared 

38 


"Bett (KHarman 


with other jobs I might think uh tacklin’.” He laughed 
lightly, his strong, white teeth gleaming, but there 
was an undertone of significance to the remark that 
Rose alone appreciated. 

“I earnestly believe, Mr. Warman, that you would 
be as successful in any task that you set your will 
to as you set your body against that bowlder. We 
thank you anyway for your service to us.” 

“Please don’t.” 

“Yes, yes, indeed,” added the Professor hastily. 
He had forgotten almost everything else in his con- 
templation of the remarkable physique of this young 
man before him. “We’re greatly obliged to you. Are 
you residing in Diorite?” 

“Yes, fur the present. Expaict to start out pros- 
pectin’ purty soon.” 

“Come and see us. Let me see; yes, why not come 
this evening ? I have no engagements this evening and 
will be engaged for several nights subsequently. So 
come to-night, do.” 

Ben remained silent — waiting. 

“Yes, Mr. Warman, do come. We will be glad to 
have you,” added Rose. He waited no longer. “Thank 
y’u, I’ll sure come. It might be a long time afore 
anuther chance.” Lifting his sombrero with a free 
gesture he strode toward town. 


39 


CHAPTER VI 


THE EASTERNERS AND THE “THROWBACK” 

But one incident worthy of note occurred between 
the departure of Ben Warman and his return in the 
evening. As he arrived at the Pacific, preoccupied 
with new and strange thoughts, he suddenly found 
himself in the midst of a crowd gathered in front 
of the hotel. The stage from the railroad, a six- 
horse concord, had just arrived with many passengers 
aboard. He watched them disembark. He had been 
much alone on the plains and even small incidents 
like this were interesting. These arrivals were evi- 
dently of a different class from any he had known. 
The party, a group of stockholders combining a July 
vacation with a trip of inspection of the Blue Bell, 
one of the few producing mines at Diorite, included 
several ladies. 

“Here, Gerald, take my suitcase, please,” Ben heard 
a voice say, a voice that had a peculiar but agree- 
able timbre, and a vision, it was no less, of blonde 
loveliness appeared from within the stage, assisted 
by a young man whose features were pale and hand- 
some. A slender, drooping mustache concealed his 
mouth, his brown hair was worn in locks reaching 
over his coat collar. The whole party was of the 
East, eastern. 

These two Ben noticed particularly. From their 
trimly shod feet to their hats they were dressed in 
the style, of which he knew nothing, of the extremely 
fashionable East. The remainder of the group were 
all of a type strange to Ben and he studied them 
40 


'Ben (KHarman 


intently. They came from an unknown country. 
They were courteous, quiet voiced, graceful in action 
and speech and radiated a new atmosphere. 

Ben’s eyes returned again to the young lady who 
had now alighted and he was somewhat embarrassed 
to find her eyes fixed upon him. Unconsciously he 
had made a strikingly picturesque figure, with his 
splendid form, regular, strong features, blue eyes and 
light gold, closely-cut clusters revealed beneath the 
slanted sombrero. His new outfit looked unusually 
well and set off his figure, while his belt and gun, of 
which he was entirely unconscious, so accustomed had 
he become to them as a cowboy, gave the finishing 
touch of the really western. 

A somewhat pompous member of the party stepped 
to the hotel register and, after writing, addressed the 
redoubtable host, Hank Gibbs, in a deep, bass voice: 
“Give me — ah — a room with a ba-a-th.” 

Hank’s eyes snapped with humor. “Here, Slim,” he 
motioned to a sapling youth, “show the gentleman to 
r-r-r-room thirteen an’ give him an order on the c-c- 
creek.” 

It was some time before the idea penetrated to the 
understanding of the pompous man that rooms with 
a ba-a-th were as yet an unknown quantity at Diorite. 

All through the supper hour Ben watched the new 
arrivals curiously and listened with great interest to 
their general conversation. Once or twice he thought 
he detected the young lady, whom he had heard ad- 
dressed as Sibyl, regarding him but decided that he 
must have been mistaken. His mind was on the 
evening before him and he soon rose and made his 
way to his room, where he took off belt and gun, 
donned a rough but new and well fitting coat and finally 
managed to correctly place a bright red four-in-hand 
tie about the neck of his blue flannel shirt. 

“Gettin’ plumb civilized,” he muttered aloud and 
4i 


T3tn lOarman 


then grinned broadly at himself in the glass. Mean- 
while there had been with him constantly the recol- 
lection of a girlish face with dusky hair and eyes, 
the eyes questioning, ever questioning, it seemed to 
him, and gravely and unemotionally regarding him. 

At seven-thirty he appeared at the Graham home, 
where he was met at the door by the Professor, who 
gave him genial welcome and suggested that they 
remain seated outside until the night fell. Rose 
was finishing up her work in the rear of the house 
whence came her pleasant voice as she sang softly 
to herself. Presently she joined them, addressing 
Ben. 

“Good-evening, Mr. — miner.” 

“Evenin’ — teacher,” he quickly responded, his eyes 
sparkling. 

“I hear there are some new visitors from the East 
at the hotel,” suggested the Professor. 

“Yeh — yes, sir,” confirmed Ben. The young miner 
gave them a broadly humorous description of the 
whole party. After a few moments of desultory con- 
versation a natural, easy silence fell upon the group. 
The Professor seemed plunged in thought by the ac- 
count of the Easterners. He was doubtless somewhere 
in the vague past. Rose heaved a slight sigh, won- 
dering if her father’s oft repeated assurances that 
they would go back to the eastern country and take 
up their proper sphere would ever be realized. 

Ben, too, had had some new recesses of his being 
stirred to life that day and he rolled many things 
over in his mind. But more than any other cause that 
contributed to their present silence was the magnificent 
beauty of the western heavens, for the eternal mys- 
tery of the dying day was there, a glorious panorama. 

The love of nature dwelt deep in the hearts of 
these three western watchers and they would not break 
the spell with idle words. 


42 


15en UJarman 


Sunset was a banner of silver and gold. Succes- 
sive waves rolled in from the ocean of the heavens 
and broke with their silver-foam tips upon the horizon 
shore. Then came reflections of orange and crimson, 
of purple and scarlet. Gradually a golden haze suc- 
ceeded, bronzed, dulled, faded and was gone. And 
as the Great Commander of Day, with his brilliant 
cortege, receded still farther below the line of the 
visible world there was nothing left but a red rim as 
if a prairie fire coursed swiftly along the horizon. The 
sentinel mountains in the distance grew dim and mys- 
terious. The stars, first one by one, came forth, timid 
and pale; then, growing bold, became fervent and 
lambent. In ever-increasing cohorts they sprang forth 
and spread and glowed like yellow, copper pyrites stud- 
ding the blue-black bornite of the sky. Out of the 
infinity of the plain and sky to the eastward rose the 
Queen of Night and, sailing proudly upward in white 
splendor, took her station at the end of a fleecy cloud, 
a Kohinoor on the point of an exquisite piece of lace. 

The Professor broke the silence and the spell : “The 
heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament 
showeth his handiwork.” 

Ben regarded him curiously. As they seated them- 
selves inside the young prospector looked longingly at 
the piano and remarked in an off-hand way: “I ain’t 
— haven’t heard any real music fur s’long I’ve plumb 
forgotten how it sounds.” 

Rose, smiling at the indirect request, took her seat 
at the piano and played several soft airs that seemed 
to steal their way down and down into his memory. 
She concluded with a simple childhood song as if she 
instinctively knew where his thoughts were and what 
the mood that grasped him. 

The low, sweetly modulated voice of the singer 
wove a spell from which Ben Warman found it 
difficult to arouse himself. 

43 


TBen batman 


"‘May I ask, Mr. Warman, where you got that 
Indian ornament you wear ?” suddenly spoke the Pro- 
fessor, “always interested in the odd and the curi- 
ous, you know,” and he indicated the arrow-head. 

“Thet’s got somethin’ uv a history, Professor,” Ben 
replied after a slight hesitation and then as if de- 
termined for once to break in some degree a reserve 
which had become second nature with him, regard- 
ing his life and antecedents, he continued : “It b’longed 
t’muh great grandfather, Benjamin Warman, from 
whom I wuz named on account uv a strong resem- 
blunce. He got ut from un Indian woman, Saca- 
jawea, the wife o’ the guide o’ the Lewis and Clark 
Expedition. These here facts wuz writ in a parch- 
ment, signed by my great grandfather, found after he 
died in his belongin’s. He wuz a member o’ the band 
under Captain Clark.” 

The Professor’s faded blue eyes brightened with 
renewed interest. “Ha! A story fraught with ro- 
mance. Go on.” 

“Thet’s ’bout all. All I know o’ him is what they 
told me when I wuz a kid an’ I’ve furgotten most o’ 
thet. I’ve got this arrowhead and the parchment, 
which I took with me when I — came west.” 

“You will excuse the curiosity of an old book-worm 
but I would be delighted, sir, to read the parch- 
ment.” 

“Y’u sure cun do so. I’ll bring ut over ur send ut. 
Ef I go way y’u cun keep it fur me till I show up 
agin.” 

“Thank you, thank you, I will take good care of it.” 

Rose had beeil thinking deeply. “Your great grand- 
father was a frontiersman?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And was there really a great resemblance?” 

“Why, they said ut wuz so strong they said I wuz 
a reproduction — think it wuz.” 

44 


IBett iKBarman 


“That’s it,” broke in the Professor, “he was your 
prototype.” 

“Yes, I reckon mebbe thet’s it,” Ben laughed. 

“And your mother and her people?” Rose asked, 
while the Professor awaited the answer with increas- 
ing interest. 

“They wuz Puritan stock, Miss Graham.” 

“One of those rare instances,” burst forth the Pro- 
fessor, enthusiastically, “of a seemingly complete re- 
version, commonly called a ‘throw-back.’ The type was 
in recession for two generations to reappear in you. 
The frontiersmen of that day, as in this, were strong 
men in every race. The Anglo-Saxon race ” 

“Your mother and her people,” Rose interrupted, 
her father lapsing into deep thought, “being of New 
England descent and breeding, their best qualities 
united with the best of the frontiersman strain would 
make a fine combination, the very best,” she insisted 
as if evolving a theory but in reality to emphasize. 

“My mother, Miss Graham, wuz a perfect woman. 
She died when I wuz thirteen. Her mem’ry is the 
one fine thing in muh life. She wuz beautiful an’ edu- 
cated. She wuz gentle an’ noble. I didn’t take after 
her side. She wuz everything— I’m not.” 

A new, fleeting expression crossed Ben’s face as he 
spoke. Rose subsided into a reverie. Then her 
thoughts took musing form thus: 

“A Puritan stock on the other side, bequeathing a 
memory of a good mother — that memory alive and 
tender; the New England tendencies — are they dead 
or only sleeping?” 

As if in answer to her mental question the Pro- 
fessor again spoke : “Seldom is there a complete re- 
version. The descendant may seem to have all the 
characteristics from the one side, but the qualities of 
the other never entirely die. They in turn remain in 
recession sometimes for years, in an individual life, 

45 


IBen MJatman 


then certain conditions, a crisis, a personality may 
start them into activity and they take on a steady 
growth until they regain their proportionate place in 
the character. And the golden mean is thus re-estab- 
lished.” 

Ben was an intent listener, though his face was as 
set and expressionless as that of a graven image. 

“That ought to help a great deal — any one — who 
was trying to — to rise to know that — he had the pos- 
sibilities in him,” suggested Rose, finally, with a sud- 
den decision in her voice. 

“It sure ought tuh, Miss Graham,” admitted Ben, 
relaxing. 

“But the will,” interrupted the Professor, “the will 
is the determining factor after all. A man — should 
be a man irrespective of hereditary bent.” 

“No whinin’ excuses goes — ef I get yuh,” rejoined 
Ben. 

Rose here turned the conversation into lighter chan- 
nels and before the prospector realized it he had en- 
tertained his listeners for some time with his lively 
narratives of humorous incidents of his cowboy days. 
Thus the evening waned. 

“You forgot a part of your wearing apparel, didn’t 
you, tonight?” Rose laughingly inquired, as he rose 
to go. 

Ben’s face went blank for a moment, fearing that 
he had made himself ridiculous by some oversight or 
ignorance. Rose laughed merrily at his evident per- 
plexity and chagrin and, in spite of his distress, he 
could not but note the charm of her deep laughter, 
the fascination of her mobile face and the delightfully 
humorous expression of the deep, dark eyes. She ran 
her index finger across her waist and, dropping her 
hand to her side, grasped an invisible object. 

“Oh,” he said at length, his face clearing instanta- 
neously and breaking into his engaging smile, “the 
46 


15 en ffllarman 


belt and gun. Yeh. I take them off — sometimes/' 

“They are not always needed?” 

“It’s a habit I got into on the range.” 

“You look — very well — without them,” she smiled 
again. 

“Don’t think I'd better make a practise uh goin' 
'thout m’ gun; but,” he added quizzically, “I expaict 
it might be worn in a less os — ostentatious style. Is 
that the right word ? I cun reduce the size — some — an’ 
use muh pocket.” 

“That will do,” she answered to both suggestions, 
“for a while.” 

“Yu’ve got a lot uh books, Professor,” said Ben 
suddenly changing the subject. “I ain’t — haven’t 
touched no — any books sence I wuz twelve; quit ’em 
jest when I needed ’em most, I reckon.” 

“We have quite a few, yes. They are a veritable 
treasure house, Mr. Warman. You should get the 
habit again. A taste of these would create an appe- 
tite. You are young, you could very soon, with your 
intelligence, sir, make up the lost time. You are per- 
fectly welcome to take any of them or to use them 
here.” 

“Never thought I c’u’d learn anything 'thout a 
teacher,” he replied humbly. 

It was a palpable bid, at least to Rose, the Professor 
being oblivious as usual. The young girl did not know 
whether to ascribe Ben’s remark to ignorance or bold- 
ness. His expression told nothing. He stood pa- 
tiently. Ben Warman was a master of subtlety when 
he cared to call it into play. Many a time he had 
mystified and fooled his fellow cowboys along until he 
reached a climax, dropped the mask and stood laugh- 
ing in the midst of their yells of resentment and 
punches of approbation, as they proclaimed him “the 
greatest damned liar unhung.” 

“You do some teachin’, don’t yuh, Miss Graham?” 

47 


'Ben Mlarntan 


Ben asked. He had learned that Rose sometimes 
acted as tutoress. She could not well deny it. Still 
studying him as if unsatisfied she finally gave him the 
benefit of the doubt, in which she was wrong, and 
replied slowly: 

“Yes, — I — we might help you a little an occasional 
evening if you really desire — to read and study.” 

“I’m such a big scholar I’d be ashamed to go into a 
class ’ith anyone else,” he continued meekly. 

Rose again darted him a quick glance but discov- 
ered nothing. 

“I sure ’ud like to be in a class b’ m’self,” he mur- 
mured on pensively. 

Rose was at her wit’s end and stood in some confu- 
sion. Then she saw a light. “But, you are going 
away, prospecting,” she responded sweetly, now that 
she thought she had escaped. Had she really divined 
that the unrepentant sinner was playing a part her 
tone would have been vastly different. Ben was 
checked but not checkmated. 

“I might go ’way,” he answered thoughtfully, “an’ 
I may not. Y’u know, I hain’t made up muh mind 
complete; muh plans is ondefinite.” 

The awfulness of the grammar and pronunciation 
somehow came out so flatly that the Professor was 
rasped from his reverie. 

“Yes, yes. Do come once in a while and we’ll try 
to extract a few gems from these diadems of truth 
and wisdom. The — ah — language of the masters is in 
itself an education and inspiration. Books! Books 
are the concentrated ” 

“I want to thank y’u, Professor, indeed I do.” Ben 
grasped the slim fingers of the head of the household 
in a grip that made him wince and forget all about 
what books were the concentration of. The unre- 
generate ignoramus had been quick to note Rose’s 
effective and merciful plan of heading the Professor 
48 


'Bert iKJatman 


off as he was about to launch out upon the seas of 
discourse. The watchful girl also noted the fact and 
his act and once again looked for ulterior motive or 
surreptitious thought. She saw none. The mask was 
perfect. 

After the new scholar had gone she stood thinking 
for some time. “Do you think, Daddy,” she addressed 
him thus occasionally when she was looking to him 
for guidance, “that there is any probability, any pos- 
sibility of the gentler blood reasserting itself when 
the wild strain is so strong? I mean — in the same 
individual ?” 

“That is a question that cannot be answered until 
the actual test comes. I’m inclined to think, in the 
case of — ah — Mr. Warman, judging from what I 
have seen of him this afternoon and evening, that if 
the ambition and will could be aroused and some- 
thing or somebody could cause him to indulge in a 
little introspection he might develop the finer-fibred 
elements that make for culture and the elevation of 
the individual and the community — meaning the in- 
tellectual, the love of order, respect for law, the con- 
structive, the administrative.” 

The young girl found herself thinking and then say- 
ing, as much in audible soliloquy as in response to her 
father’s words : “I hope it may be as you say — in the 
case of Mr. Warman.” 


49 


CHAPTER VII 


TRENT WAKES A LION 

It was the next evening at the Palace. A motley 
crowd was gathering for the evening’s devotions. 
There was “Side View,” a miner, with one optic; 
“Trigger Leg,” a middle aged prospector whose right 
knee was bent and stiff ; “Shakespeare,” whose peculi- 
arity consisted of a constant horizontal oscillation of 
the head; “Foot-and-Half,” that being the sum total 
of his pedal extremities, and “Panicy Bill,” whose 
penchant was alarms. The real ones had not arrived. 

A jerky conversation ensued, halted, started, sagged 
and expired. The long silence was broken at last by 
the bartender, as he placed some glasses on the bar. 

“Well, boys, what’ll we have,” several dilapidated 
wrecks rolled from their chairs to a standing position 
and started eagerly for the bar, “rain or snow?” con- 
cluded the barkeep, peering out of the window as he 
calmly proceeded to wipe the glasses. The loungers' 
burst into a deriding guffaw as the derelicts sank back 
into their chairs. 

The entrance of Hank Gibbs, the inimitable, with a 
group of friends diverted the gibes about to be 
launched at the hopeless wrecks. 

“Did I ever t-t-tell you about the time I was a minin’ 
with another feller that stuttered ?” Hank asked. 
“Funny snap. One day when we wuz a sharpenin’ 
steel,” he continued, his brown eyes twinkling mer- 
rily, “an’ the conversation went s-s-something like 
this; as I jerks a s-s-steel out of the fire and lays it 
white hot on the a-a-anvil : 

SO 


TSen (KHarman 


“ ‘Hit it,’ sez I. 

“ ‘What with/ sez my pard. 

“ ‘The big s-s-s-sledge, the d-d-double jack, in 
c-course/ sez I. 

“ ‘W-W-Where is ut?’ 

“ ‘D-D-Durned ef I know. Look fur ut/ 

“ ‘C-C-Can’t find ut n.-n-nowheres/ 

“ ‘N-N-Never mind n-n-now/ sez I. ‘D-D-Damn 
it, the s-s-steel’s c-c-cold !’ ” 

The laugh that followed fully repaid Hank’s effort, 
especially as it was joined in by a group that had en- 
tered, among them Bill Trent, the tempter of Andy 
McLaughlin. 

“Hello, Hank,” greeted Trent, “time old fellers like 
you was goin’ to bed, ain’t it?” 

“B-B-Bed!” responded Hank. “Bad place t’ go; 
folks die in b-b-bed. But you needn’t be scared ; only 
honest f-f-f-folks d-die in b-b-bed.” 

More laughter rose from the increasing crowd in 
which Trent joined good-naturedly. But while the 
room still echoed with the hoarser response to Hank’s 
humor Trent’s eyes gleamed. Ben Warman had en- 
tered, nonchalant, insouciant, easy. Indifferently he 
sauntered over to the roulette wheel and stood watch- 
ing the game that had just started. 

Trent looked significantly at several of his com- 
rades and began a conversation with one of them in 
an unnecessarily loud tone. 

“Yes, the town’s filling with something new every 
day now.” 

“Waat’s the latest?” 

“The latest? Whicl\ it’s a cowpuncher turned 
miner.” 

Warman’s trouble with Trent had become common 
talk and all knew that bad blood existed. They quickly 
caught the purport of the play now going on. The fig- 
ure of Ben Warman stood carelessly, his back to 

51 


IBett (Hlarman 


Trent, watching the whirling wheel with careless eye. 

“Can’t tell nuthin’ about these cowpunchers,” con- 
tinued Trent; “good many times they go out on the 
range as the least likely place for a sheriff to find ’em.” 

“That’s so.” 

“An’ some are card sharps as can hide a card purty 
skillful.” 

The eyes of the onlookers were watchful, for provo- 
cation had already passed the ordinary limit. With 
a man of Warman’s reputation an explosion had been 
expected even before the last remark and the crowd 
had edged out of the line of fire. But the young ex- 
cowboy betrayed no interest unless it was in the mo- 
tion of his jaws as he chewed his cigar. 

“Some of them is reg’ler lady killers, too,” Trent 
went on. 

Twice he had wetted his lips with his tongue while 
his forehead showed small beads of moisture. His 
hand hung near his hip pocket. 

Seeing the object of his baiting apparently oblivious 
to his last remark, he grew bolder. He had failed to 
notice that with that remark the jaws of the blond- 
haired man ceased to work and set tightly like a trap. 

“This latest one, which he came in with Buck Car- 
son the other day, sets up as a pertecter uv old men 
and little girls.” 

“So I hears.” 

“Don’t stop there neither; he’s also interested in 
young women.” 

“Y’u don’t say!” 

Had any of the expectant crowd caught a glimpse 
of the eyes of the man with the short, clustered hair 
they would have noticed them slowly changing to a 
steel gray ; also, they would have been cognizant of the 
fact that those eyes gave a sidelong glance at the mir- 
ror back of the bar and accurately noted Trent’s 
position. 


52 


TSett ©Harman 


‘‘Yes. The Professor’s gal looks purty good to him ; 
the old man’s sorter nutty an’ I guess she’ll be easy.” 

Instantaneously with the last words Warman 
whirled and sprang like a flame. Before the speaker 
could more than half draw his gun the blast was upon 
him. He found his arms pinioned on either side of 
his waist, a passion-lit face burned before his own, 
gray eyes shot darts of steel into his. Then he was 
lifted from his feet, his grasp torn loose, raised above 
a golden head by a resistless propelling force and 
thrown headlong to the base of the bar. 

While Trent was still in air Ben slid a short gun 
from his pocket and his man as well as the man’s, 
backers were covered. But there was no need. 
Trent’s supporters had no desire to attack the man 
with the white wrath in his face and the strength of a 
giant in his frame. As for Trent, he lay still. His 
head had struck the iron foot-rest and through a long 
gash in his head the blood flowed out upon the saloon 
floor. 

Bart Conley, his eyes glistening in involuntary ad- 
miration at the amazing agility and power displayed 
by Warman in the encounter, glanced with sudden 
satisfaction at the still form on the floor and stepped 
forward to feel of Trent’s temples and heart. A quick, 
cursory examination of the recumbent man seemed 
sufficient. 

“Dead,” he said slowly. Turning to a thickset man 
upon the lapel of whose vest a star gleamed brightly, 
he continued significantly: “Guess this is a case for 
you, Mr. Marshal.” 

There was a satisfied mocking sneer in the even 
voice that made Warman turn his blazing eyes upon 
him. For a long moment Ben had watched his an- 
tagonist and his friends for further hostility and then, 
seeing that there was no danger of gun play, had 
thrust his weapon away. Bart Conley’s word was law 

53 


'iBctt batman 


in Diorite. When he directed an arrest, an arrest fol- 
lowed. The marshal moved forward. 

“But, hell, men, y’u heard what he said, didn’t yuh ?” 
finally burst from the straight lips of the central figure. 

“We did that,” cried a clear voice and a slightly 
built, black-haired youth stepped forward and grasped 
Ben’s hand. “My name’s Dick Grant. You served 
the scoundrel right. No man could stand more than 
you did. We expected action long before it came. He 
got what was coming to him. Am I right, gentle- 
men ?” 

The speaker turned and waved his hand question- 
ingly across the crowd. In the first impulse of their 
natural judgment and their enthusiasm for the mar- 
velous work they had seen, a number of voices re- 
sponded : “Right y’u are, Dick.” “Y’u’re sure right.” 
“In course.” 

The marshal moved back. 

“Our versatile future editor, Mr. Grant, is all right, 
boys,” the slow, meaning accents of Bart Conley’s 
voice were again falling steadily as if sure of his 
ground and prey, “but there are times when Dick gets 
his foot out of the stirrup. This is one of ’em. This 
man,” indicating Warman, “didn’t have no such cause 
to kill Trent as the law allows. Trent didn’t strike a 
blow. No amount of talk is sufficient provocation for 
an assault, and especially a deadly one, like this. 
That’s the law and Warman knows it and so does 
Grant.” 

The marshal moved forward. 

“Likewise,” continued Conley, evenly, “a man’s ac- 
countable for all the results of an illegal act.” Con- 
ley’s black eyes were agleam with evil mockery. “And 
this man bein’ dead Warman’s responsible. It’s about 
time this camp became a law-abidin’ community. This 
thing’s happened in my place and I calls on the mar- 
shal to put Warman under arrest for murder.” 

54 


15ett COatman 


The final words were uttered with emphasis, the 
fierce eyes swept the crowd as if defying a single man 
of them to question his dictatorship. The men felt 
the insincerity of the words ; they knew some ulterior 
motive was behind them; it was not the man to man, 
fair play standard to which they were accustomed; 
yet they could not deny its logic. 

For several moments the savage soul of the former 
cowboy planned rebellion and escape. He would defy 
them, fight them, gain his liberty and laugh at them. 
What had he to do with law or law with him ? Then 
something new spoke to him from within, a combina- 
tion of strange influences in succession seemed to 
steal through heart, blood and brain and by their com- 
bined strength hold him in leash. Grant’s eyes be- 
trayed his troubled indecision. 

“All right, Mr. Marshal,” Ben Warman’s voice 
broke the tense silence. “It’s a new deal on me. Ain’t 
been accustomed to fightin’ thisaway,” he laughed sar- 
castically. “But I’ll see the thing through now ac- 
cordin’ t’ law. I’m y’ur man.” 

The marshal’s hand fell and he was a prisoner. Dick 
Grant spoke up impulsively: “I’ll go over with you, 
Warman. I want to talk to you. This is underhand 
play.” 

These two men looked into each other’s eyes in this 
moment of hot tension and then and there was fused 
a friendship that was destined to endure. 

“Dirtiest jail I ever was in,” grinned Warman as 
Dick entered. For an hour they talked and when the 
interview was ended a loyalty had been cemented that 
was invincible. Even as an instantaneous repulsion 
had entered between Ben Warman and Bart Conley, so 
had an irresistible attraction sprung into existence be- 
tween these two. It was “Ben” and “Dick” and ever 
was to be. 

“I’ll stay with you till hades congeals,” was Dick’s 

55 


15tn ffllarman 


final word as they once more clasped hands, to which 
he added : “I’ll go out now and try to arrange about 
bail, if it’s possible. I’m afraid it will be denied, 
though. Better change your mind and let me send 
word to Buck Carson and the boys to get you out.” 

Ben smiled and shook his head. “No ; my decision’s 
plumb final on that.” 

“Well, keep a stiff upper lip, old man.” And Dick 
was gone. Ben waved his adios. 

Dick Grant’s worst enemy was himself. Brilliantly 
educated, a graduate of one of the greatest colleges 
in the East, he had achieved some success in his pro- 
fession of letters, his articles having appeared in many 
newspapers and magazines. Becoming a Bohemian of 
the Bohemians, his enthusiastic temperament and 
youth leading him to excesses his health had been 
shattered to such an extent, symptoms of heart and 
pulmonary trouble appearing, that the doctors had 
ordered him into a higher, dryer altitude and warned 
him against dissipation either in drink or in the ex- 
citement of the gambling table. These must abso- 
lutely cease, they said, or his life would pay the 
penalty. 

It had been a hard struggle to tear away from the 
congenial circle of New York’s newspaper company 
and ‘good fellowship, but it was that or die — and he 
chose to live. After a few years of wandering in the 
West, whose peculiarities he had quickly and enthusi- 
astically absorbed, he had arrived at Diorite some 
months previous to the incident in the Palace. He 
had decided, with the little capital still remaining in 
his possession, to start a newspaper, already named 
the Diorite Herald. The following Saturday was to 
witness the first publication that was to make Diorite 
proud and blazon to the world the existence and vast 
possibilities of the camp. 

There was no need to admonish the fighting spirit 

56 


IBett OHarman 


of Ben Warman to sustain itself ; its work was to sub- 
due itself. Yet, as he thought over the situation, an- 
grily and defiantly, at first, but with more reasoning 
later, the more its problems rankled. That there was 
much truth in Conley’s statement of the law, he well 
knew ; though there was no doubt in Ben’s mind, and 
none in the minds of the onlookers, that Trent had 
come there with his friends for the very purpose of 
provoking a fight and, by unfair advantage, killing his 
enemy; yet he had not actually drawn a gun fully, 
Ben’s quickness having prevented. The result was 
clearly to be serious, especially with Bart Conley to 
force the charge and prosecution as he undoubtedly 
would. In a country largely controlled by Conley, he‘ 
contemplated — the gallows ! 

It was not that he feared in any sense to pay the 
penalty; but to hang! From somewhere in the deeps 
of his being there came a sense of protest at such an 
end. In all his wild career he had but once before 
actually ended a human life, though he had engaged 
in many a brawl and frequent gun work. That had 
been a case of purest self-defense. It had left no 
shadow upon his heart. It had not even caused him I 
to stop and question himself. 

But now, somehow, the covering of his inner life 
was lifted and the plummet of his thoughts sank into 
deep after deep of his being, depths he had never 
known to exist. He realized for the first time that his 
honor, his name meant something to him ; to him who 
had scarcely thought of either in ten long years ; years 
in which he had laughed at convention, at propriety, 
at sobriety and at law — that law which had at last 
penetrated to even this remote recess of the frontier 
and lain its iron hand upon his shoulder. That law 
and the civilization it represented was at last a reality, 
a thing of life and action; a thing to be reckoned 
with even if it was invoked by a Bart Conley. 

57 


13zn (KUatman 


Ben’s teeth grated as he thought of Conley, who had 
so calmly and cunningly taken advantage of the situa- 
tion and called upon the law and its representatives 
with such a show of virtue, when the voices of his 
fellows, by the custopi of the border, would not have 
held him accountable. Yet, he was guilty in the eyes 
of the law and it meant — the scaffold! As though 
he had murdered a man ! 

The impact of the thought shook, though it did not 
subdue, his wild soul. He had one consolation — he 
had been true to his sense of manhood when he struck ; 
for had not the coward given insult to the name of a 
pure girl, and that girl, Rose Graham ? 

He recalled that others among the bystanders had 
involuntarily started for Trent when they heard her 
name thus mentioned. The eyes of that girl he now 
could see, clear, grave, something in their dark depths 
questioning and still questioning him. He strove 
blindly to understand the questions and to find the 
answers to them. 

His thoughts were disturbed by a clanking and rat- 
tling at the door and Dick Grant burst in, his face 
lighted with exultation. 

“You’re free, old man; you’re free!” 

“Free!” repeated Ben, coming slowly back from the 
newly sounded depths until his face at last expressed 
his astonishment. 

“Yes, Trent’s alive and will be all right in a day or 
two. Even the doctor was fooled and had pronounced 
him dead. He’s come to and won’t file any complaint. 
Western idea, you know. He’s taking what’s coming 
to him by rights.” 

“Dick,” said Ben, sharply, but with intense feeling, 
“this takes un enormous load off muh mind. It wuz 
tough while it lasted; and yet — I guess, mebbe,” he 
added, slowly, “it was worth while.” 

And in his expression Dick Grant read the record 

58 


'Ben COatman 


of the birth, or resurrection, of a deeper character 
in this man than any one had suspected. Again he ex- 
tended his hand in understanding. 

The marshal now interrupted the friends to verify 
Dick’s announcement and Ben Warman walked forth 
a free man. 

But the shock had started vibrations in the deeps of 
his soul that were to grow in intensity. 


59 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE PROMISE 

On the following Saturday the Diorite Herald saw 
the light of day and Diorite took a long step in pride 
and self-esteem. In his short experience in the West 
Dick Grant had rapidly accumulated western ideas as 
well as a fund of information and expression and his 
style of writing was therefore an odd combination of 
eastern elegance, western picturesqueness and force. In 
the first column of the first page was the dedication : 

* “To the Boys of the Drill and Pan. 

“To the most unique brotherhood in the world I here- 
with dedicate the Diorite Herald. To the brotherhood 
whose nomadic members wander over nearly one-third 
of the territory of North America and keep their 
camp-fires everywhere as signals of advancement and 
civilization; to the brotherhood whose hopeful mem- 
bers are equally at home among the icebergs of the 
North, among the pine forests of the mountains, on the 
bleached sands of Death Valley — wherever their blan- 
kets are spread, wherever their tents are pitched, wher- 
ever their cabins are built — on the expansive plains 
of sage-brush solitudes, among the cloud-land crags 
of mountain ranges, by the silvery waters of snow- 
fed streams; to the brotherhood whose sturdy mem- 
bers are the pioneers of development in the mining 
world I send forth from out the mountains the Diorite 
Herald to tell you and yours that I have gathered from 

* Grant Jones in Dillon Double jack. 

6o 


TBen SHarman 


the mosses of the North, from the sage-brush of 
the plains, from the pine trees of the mountains and 
from the flowers of the lowlands — a wreath which I 
propose to place about your rugged brow and crown 
you — King. 

Richard Grant.” 

‘"Splendid,” ejaculated the Professor. “And now we 
go from the sublime to the ridiculous,” he concluded 
as he finished the dedication and his eyes fell upon 
the following, indicating the same to Rose, who, 
perched on the side of his chair, laughingly read 
aloud : “ ‘In the mountains a china plate is called a 

bald-faced dish and when mentioned brings recollec- 
tions of childhood/ 

“I must make the acquaintance of the editor,” re- 
marked the Professor. “The derivation of words ” 

“Look, oh, look ! father !” exclaimed Rose suddenly, 
pointing, her face grave, and they read : 

“Trouble at the Palace. 

“Last night a fight occurred at the Palace, the par- 
ticipants being Ben Warman and Bill Trent, and the 
results were rather serious, or appeared so, for a time, 
to the latter who received a bad gash in the head. For 
an hour or more Trent was supposed to have suc- 
cumbed to his injuries, but later, to the surprise of all, 
he regained consciousness. Meanwhile Warman was 
arrested and taken to the city jail, but was later re- 
leased when it transpired that Trent had recovered. 

“The cause of the encounter is attributed to bad 
blood between the parties, but ” 

A firm knock at the door disturbed their hurried 
reading. Rose hastened to open it and Ben Warman 
stood on the little porch, holding a flat, folded parch- 
ment 


61 


TSett asaarman 


As she had read the account of the fight a disap- 
pointed, hurt expression crept over her face. The 
very next evening, after the conversation with her- 
self and father, he had engaged in a saloon brawl, had 
nearly killed a man and been placed in jail. 

Ben stepped lightly into the room, smiling pleas- 
antly at both. 

“Good evenin’, Miss Graham ; here y’u are, Profes- 
sor. Thought I’d bring thet little, old writin’ over 
m’self.” And he handed the parchment to the Profes- 
sor, who had arisen after hastily thrusting the paper 
out of sight. 

“Thank you, Mr. Warman, I — I had forgotten about 
the parchment,” he returned the greeting as he rather 
awkwardly accepted the writing. “You need not have 

troubled yourself so much. I — I — ah ” And for 

once the Professor, voluble and fluent as he was, 
seemed at a loss for words. 

Ben had, as yet, noticed nothing unusual. Now he 
turned eagerly to Rose who, still standing, had taken 
up a book and was idly running over its pages. 

“Miss Graham, I’m not goin’ prospectin’ now. I’ve 

gone to work uz a miner at the Blue Bell and ” his 

enthusiastic voice slowed down and stopped. 

She had at last been forced to look at him and Ben 
in that moment encountered that intangible, elusive 
something by which a woman surrounds her person- 
ality with reserve and dignity. She was the same girl- 
woman he had studied and yet — the expression of 
the dark eyes chilled him. 

“I wuz sayin’ — thet I’d be able tuh take some of 

those lessons we talked about — if — if ” he finished 

lamely, his face puzzled and disappointed. Then he 
countered for a moment humorously, while he tried to 
solve the problem. “Ef ut warms up some it’s liable 
tuh snow.” And he turned up his coat collar. 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Warman, that it is going to be very 
62 


'ISen Cfllarman 


difficult to arrange any time for the readings. Both 
father's and my time is pretty well taken up. Indeed 
we have engagements tonight," Rose said in a voice 
not quite natural. 

“I beg y’ur pardon. Thet’s so. The Professor told 
me the other night thet he'd be busy. I — I'll go 
now ” 

She stopped him with a gesture but the words did 
not seem to present themselves. Then Ben saw. His 
eyes fell and his face flushed and then grew white with 
feeling. Recovering himself he stood before them 
with an ease and a quietness that were almost dignified. 
His tones betrayed nothing but sorrow. 

“Y'u needn’t say it, Miss Graham, I understand. I 
didn’t think, though, thet y’u’d think so hard uv ut. 
I’ll not bother y’u any more. I guess my ways ain’t 
• — fit," he finished. 

Rose, feeling that after all it was not quite just to 
condemn him without further hearing, some oppor- 
tunity for explanation, considered. As she hesitated 
again for just the proper words, he walked to the door. 
Strange to say, it was she who seemed the offending 
one and she was really disconcerted when the search- 
ing blue eyes of the visitor turned fully upon her. He 
quickly stepped through the door and was gone. 

“We surely could not do anything else than discour- 
age him, father, could we ?" 

“You know best, child, but I think you are right," 
responded the Professor as he sat down and again 
spread out the paper. 

“We did not finish that article, father. It’s not 
pleasant reading, but now that we have gone so far 
in it we might read the rest of it." They resumed. 

“The immediate cause, and the writer knows where- 
of he speaks, was an insulting remark, manifestly 
made for Warman to hear, as well as the crowd, in 

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IBtn (HJarman 


which a well known and highly respected young lady, 
closely related to the Superintendent of our school, 
was referred to. Warman had already overlooked a 
number of provoking insinuations directed at himself, 
but when the last remark was made he was upon the 
insulter instantly. Though armed, he used no weapon 
except those with which nature has so munificently 
endowed him, and clearly risked his life in so doing, 
for had Trent had time to fire, which he sought to do, 
Warman would have met with instant death. Public 
opinion holds the attack more than justified. It was 
the act of a man.” 

Daughter and father slowly removed their eyes from 
the page and looked at each other in silence for sev- 
eral moments. A flush of shame gradually suffused 
the face of the girl ; and yet through it all there seemed 
to be an expression of relief — almost a touch of exul- 
tation. 

“We have made a great mistake, father,” she spoke 
eagerly. “He must have presumed that, knowing of 
the matter at all, we knew all about it. And we — oh, 
it is too bad. We not only did not acknowledge the 
service but we treated him as one unworthy when he — 
he was most worthy. Oh, what shall we do? We 
must explain and apologize/’ 

Ben Warman’s budding faith had received a hard 
blow. As he paced back to the hotel and then about 
town restlessly, mystification, pride, bitterness and de- 
fiance struggled for precedence in his thoughts. Strive 
as he would he could not reconcile the conduct of 
Rose Graham with his preconceived estimate of her. 
He had not known, when he went to the Graham 
home, whether they had heard or read of his encoun- 
ter and arrest or not. But they evidently had and he 
was staggered by having conveyed to him, by their 
manner, their condemnation for fighting. And they 
64 


15 en ffiaarman 


gave him no opportunity to explain the circumstances. 
It was a saloon brawl, it was true, he thought, but had 
he not restrained himself far beyond his usual habits 
and with no little effort? And had he not only burst 
the bonds of restraint in quick resentment of the men- 
tion of her name disrespectfully? 

After turning the matter over in his mind many 
times, his conclusion was that they, knowing all, had 
condemned him. If their attitude was the result of 
education, refinement and culture, then it was too high 
for him ever to reach ; it was beyond his ken, and, what 
was more, beyond his desire. For deep down his man- 
hood still told him that he had done right. Even now, 
under the same circumstances he must and would do 
the same. It was hopeless for him to start on the long 
journey to reach higher vantage ground of which he 
had caught just a glimpse; hopeless to try and climb 
to the upper trail he had sighted. The incident 
pressed its jagged point deeper and deeper into his 
consciousness the longer he pondered. 

During the preceding days, succeeding the fight with 
Trent, Ben Warman had done more thinking, more 
self-examination than in all his life before. lie, de- 
cidedly, had belonged to the class which had blown 
about rudderless, driven on their course mostly by the 
winds of passion and appetite. He saw his line of 
existence, which, carried to its logical finish, meant 
wasted years, squandered earnings, spent youth; no 
property, no education, himself a riotous, improvident 
wanderer over the face of the land, indulging in every 
dissipation, engaging in strife and battlings which 
some day must end fatally to him ; and his life, worth- 
less to him and to the world, be snuffed out. Nothing 
would remain but a nameless grave in the rocks of the 
mountains or the sage-brush of the plains. 

It was not a pleasant picture. But what had caused 
him to think? First had been a girl, Rose Graham; 

65 


75tn IQarman 


next the meeting with the eastern people who repre- 
sented a world he had once touched as a lad and had 
later repudiated and forgotten; then the blow of the 
conviction that he had killed a man under such cir- 
cumstances as might end his life on the scaffold. The 
resultant, clarifying shock had been a severe one ; but, 
as fortune had favored him again and the man was not 
dead, the problem and dilemma suddenly solved, its po- 
tency, extremely effective as an awakener, must neces- 
sarily diminish and fade. The Easterners gone would 
be lost to him as a continuous force. 

There remained — the girl. He was now awake and 
keenly alive to the fact that his ideas, merely beginning 
to stir, his faith, the new tendrils of his thoughts some- 
how curled themselves about the personality of this 
girl. She had not only been an awakening factor but 
she could, if she would, continue to be a permanent 
force, a sustaining power. And upon her, in his 
thoughts, he had finally rested as the one influence 
upon which he must rely for assistance and inspira- 
tion if he was to begin the career which he now vague- 
ly hoped for. 

As he had reflected upon his past career his sense 
of unworthiness had come upon him so strongly that 
he had spoken to himself aloud : “Hell, I ain’t fit to 
even talk to ’ur.” 

His new purposes and hopes had barely come into 
existence; frail, wavering, questioning, timorous, sen- 
sitive, doubtful of their ability to live and grow. The 
light of a cleaner life, a more worthy work, a more 
useful career, service to himself, his friends, an hon- 
ored place in some community had just begun to suf- 
fuse his mind and heart with a faint glow. 

Hence upon these tender and but half-formed ten- 
dencies and purposes the blow of the girl’s condemna- 
tion had fallen with bruising, sickening force, with a 
crushing weight. The wavering light was almost ex- 
66 


T5cn (DOarman 


tinguished. The new man within him bent far beneath 
the strain, especially as the old Ben Warman, fiery, 
impetuous, reckless and defiant urged him to crush out 
the new, foolish thoughts and live; live riotously, live 
while he might and feed the insatiable appetites of his 
overflowing youth, daring what pleasures the world 
afforded while he was strong and could take what he 
desired. 

But Ben was now supported by an influence to which 
he had given no thought; that was the other hereto- 
fore buried side of his nature, the endowment of the 
New England blood. This strain had at last, with the 
awakening, stirred to faint but persistent life. It was 
an influence of which he was unconscious. It began 
to show its presence and as the wild blood, smarting 
under the rebuff he had received, in the bitterness of 
his disappointment and chagrin, cried “Come!” the 
blood of the Puritan stirred and said : “Hold !” 

Though it was a still, small voice yet gradually re- 
sentment, bitterness, the almost irresistible tendency 
to reaction and a certain defiant pride gave way to 
reason and a new kind of pride. Dependence upon 
other influences, reliance upon Rose Graham, whose 
support had been so unexpectedly withdrawn, were 
replaced by an independence and a self-reliance in his 
new being which, as he neared the hotel, after walk- 
ing for hours, culminated in a repressed but explosive 
conclusion entirely characteristic in expression of his 
former self : 

“Damn me, I’ll do it alone.” 

And thus finally, under circumstances altogether 
different from any he could previously have imagined, 
he made the promise — to himself — she had suggested. 


67 


CHAPTER IX 


THE AMBER-EYED GIRL 

Sibyl Lorimer was tall, slender, graceful, with an 
undulating willowness of movement. A fluff of golden 
hair was heaped like a halo above her unusually long, 
oval face, whose complexion was peculiar in that it had 
no freshness, no life, no blood warmth, yet was clear 
and even, tinged with the shade of ivory. Delicate 
brows, highly arched; eyes cast down, as they often 
were, gave an effect of dreamy, quiet, touching appeal 
and Madonna-like purity. 

This impression, however, quickly disappeared when 
the full, curved lips parted in a languorous smile, dis- 
closing perfect, long teeth of pearl. And when the 
indolent eyes were finally revealed an entirely different 
impression was given, for her eyes, which by all the 
rules should have been a serene, heavenly blue, startled 
the observer with a peculiar mixture of wine and gold, 
resulting in a deep, lustrous bronze, at times shaded 
with a tinge of green in their depths and again a deep- 
ening of the gold and yet again the lambent, yellow 
glow of the leopard’s eye. The face might have be- 
longed to a saint ; the eyes gave a strange impression 
of latent possibilities; of passions and emotions in 
abeyance that might, if aroused, flame intensely. 

Her life had been uneventful. She had never 
known the meaning of affection save for her brother, 
Gerald. Not even the bonds of filial devotion had 
ever bound her very closely to her parents who had 
led the superficial life of the wealthy ones of New 
York society. Of suitors she had had many, but none: 
had ever interested her. 


68 


TBen fKHarman 


Perfunctorily performing her duties and fulfilling 
her sphere as an only daughter and an only sister,, 
participating in without caring in the least for the 
ceaseless round of social dissipation of the exclusive 
circles, careless at play yet always winning at cards, 
courted yet never evincing the slightest pleasure at 
attentions from the eligibles of Gotham, accepting as a 
matter of course every luxury money could surround 
her with, yet at times seeming to disdain money, its 
show and pomp and glitter, she seemed never to have 
been awakened to life. She was as one who slept. 
Slow and deliberate in all her movements, never hur- 
ried, never excited, her ease precluded the idea of 
“nerves.” No deep impression seemed ever to have 
been stamped upon her mind and heart. None of 
the things with which she had always been surrounded 
held for her attraction or affection amounting even to 
a mild interest; and as for a real concern, she knew 
none, unless it was for her brother and his work as 
an artist. 

She possessed a fair education, a deep, fine contralto 
voice and a mastery of the piano, either of which 
last two achievements, if persistently followed, would 
have gained her fame; yet she seldom used them. 
Possessing the ability to affect all who heard, with 
voice or instrument, she cared neither for the ability 
nor for the music itself. The keynote of her colorless 
existence was a languorous, lazy, indifferent selfishness 
and unconcern as to the rest of the world. 

This, then, was the woman who stepped from the 
stage at Diorite and for the first time in her life, 
when her eyes rested upon Ben Warman, found a man 
that interested her. It was a new sensation, something 
novel, something to be investigated and studied. 

Hence it was that, as the party of Easterners were 
shown through the levels and stopes of the Blue Bell 
mine, Ben Warman, who had been delegated by the 
69 


15en ©Harman 


superintendent, quick to note his strength and intel- 
ligence, to conduct the party, found himself answering 
many questions addressed to him by Sibyl Lorimer. 

She was interested in everything and watched Ben’s 
face intently as he explained the manner of working 
the mine, chipped pieces of rich ore from the walls 
that, to the visitors, had the same dull, dirty, valueless 
appearance; pointed out the necessity and manner of 
timbering and indicated veins, their dip and strike, 
that were utterly undiscernible to the uninitiated but 
enthusiastic stockholders. 

They started along a drift where they had heard 
the compressed air drills, some little time before, 
chugging and boring their way into the stubborn rock, 
but which were now quiet. 

‘Til show yuh the holes drilled by the machines 
and how the powder is put in. We’re just in time. 
The men are prob’bly preparing the shots,” said Ben 
and walked ahead, holding his candle so as to afford 
light for those immediately in his rear. Sibyl Lori- 
mer kept by his side or just behind him. 

They had traversed some distance and were near- 
ing the end of the level when Warman, looking back, 
observed that most of the party had been following 
so slowly that they were just rounding a sharp angle 
of the drift some sixty feet to the rear. From where 
he and Miss Lorimer stood it was some fifty feet 
farther on to the breast of the drift. 

“Wait here, Miss. I’ll go back and assist the rest 
of the party. They seem t’have some trouble gittin’ 
along,” said Ben and strode hastily back. 

Sibyl stood waiting, looking to the end of the level 
where she saw shadowy forms kneeling and working 
in the flaring light of candles hung on the projecting 
rocks or crevices by the points of the candlesticks. 
Suddenly, their excited voices sounding muffled, yet 
alarmed, they sprang to their feet and rushed headlong 
70 


ISen ©Batman 


away from the breast. They gave the indistinct figure 
of the girl standing against the wall motionless, a 
startled look as they fled by and shouted to her con- 
fused words she did not understand. It was not until 
long afterward that she sensed the words “blast,” “fol- 
low.” The miners swept back with them several of 
the straggling group. 

Back along the level around the angle of the turn 
womens voices screamed and men’s shouts joined in 
a confused, unintelligible sound. Puzzled, she stood 
waiting where Ben had placed her, a vague alarm 
springing into her mind and beating persistently at 
her heart. Something was wrong. Then came a ring- 
ing voice and she heard Warman shout : “Damn y’ur 
carelessness and yu too. Out uh m’way!” 

“It’s too late. The fuse is quick. Y’u’ll both be 
killed !” shrilled men’s voices back in the darkness. 

A figure, dim at first, then looming into shadowy 
view, leaped toward her. “Run this way, Miss,” came 
a cry. 

She moved swiftly forward now. “Why, Mr. War- 
man, what ” 

The words were cut short as she found herself lifted 
in strong arms against a heaving breast and felt her- 
self being carried swiftly along. All of the party 
and the miners were now out of sight beyond that 
significant angle sixty feet away. Straining every 
nerve and muscle Ben ran along, holding his human 
burden always in front. 

“Bend y’ur head down, quick,” he commanded. She 
obeyed and as her head pressed upon his breast she 
heard and felt the strong pulsations of his heart as 
it responded to the mighty exertions of his body. 
Even in that moment which she now knew to be one 
of imminent danger she was conscious of a thrill that 
quickened her blood as it had never been stirred be- 
fore. 


71 


TBen ©Harman 


Within ten feet of the turn Ben bent still lower. 
Three feet more — a thunderous crash sounded behind 
them and instantaneously a stream of broken rock 
shrieked by them and struck the wall at the turn. 
Sibyl felt her rescuer stagger as he turned the angle 
and stumble with his burden to safety. He was up 
immediately, still supporting her, as roar after roar 
rolled along the drift and the very granite under 
their feet seemed to quiver and quake. 

Consciously or unconsciously Sibyl clung tightly 
to Ben, who still instinctively protected her with his 
body, although the danger was over except for a pos- 
sible broken piece deflected from the wall. Luckily 
for Ben and the girl, the first shot had not been as 
effective as usual or its deadly work would have been 
sufficient of itself. Had they not reached the angle 
the second shot would have killed them and the re- 
maining blasts mangled them almost beyond recog- 
nition. 

As the echo of the last shot died away and no 
more came, Sibyl relaxed her hold and was taken in 
charge by her brother, while the crowd entered upon 
excited explanations, comments and congratulations 
at her escape. After a momentary faintness at the 
instant of extreme danger Sibyl Lorimer had ex- 
hibited a strength of will and a courage that sur- 
prised her friends. Rejecting further assistance, she 
accompanied the party to the main shaft, where they 
were quickly hoisted to the surface. 

Voluble voices again rehearsed the incident. Then 
the party became cognizant of the fact that a coura- 
geous deed had been performed by their guide. Sibyl, 
turning quickly, held out to Ben a long, slender hand 
and said : 

“Mr. Warman, you saved my life at the risk of 
your own. I shall never forget the deed or the man.” 

For the first time since they had known her her 
72 


TBert batman 


friends noticed a tinge of red, a color of life, in her 
cheeks. The effect on her appearance was magical, 
her beauty became striking. A chorus of voices now 
joined in praise and thanks while Ben stood silently, 
his right hand hanging loosely. He gave his left to 
those who insisted on shaking hands. His only re- 
sponse, as his eyes flashed, was: “The men sh’u’d’ve 
ben more careful. They had no right t’suppose y’u 
understood their shouts an’ud follow. I did the only 
thing left t’do. As ut happened thur wuz time. This 
way t’ tlT office.” 

Sibyl’s eyes had been busy since shaking Ben’s hand 
— he had given her his right. His clasp had been 
strangely weak and limp. Now he was using his left 
hand. Her eyes traveled down his right arm. 

“Not quite time enough, Mr. Warman,” and she 
pointed to a jagged tear in his coat at the shoulder 
and then to his hand, which was suddenly bright with 
blood. 

A look of embarrassment came to Ben’s face as 
they again crowded around him with solicitous ex- 
clamations. 

“It don’t amount to nuthin’,” he laughed, “a small 
piece from the first shot cut through the coat an’ 
bruised muh shoulder a trifle.” 

Nevertheless, when the town’s surgeon had bandaged 
the injury, a nasty cut and a contused bone, he said: 
“You can’t use that arm for two weeks. Report for 
treatment every day and don’t use the arm. Just 
to make sure I’ll put it in a sling.” 

And Ben went forth doomed to two weeks of idle- 
ness at a time when he wished most for activity, 
heaping imprecations upon his luck in general and 
upon the sling in particular. 

After supper that evening Sibyl Lorimer and her 
brother, after again thanking Ben for his great ser- 
vice to her, insisted on his taking a seat with them 

73 


15ett (HJartnan 


out on the sidewalk that served as porch to the hotel. 
The plains to the east were flooded with the white 
light of the descending sun, while the shadows deep- 
ened and grew long on the foothills. Various mem- 
bers of the party were scattered around, though none 
were near enough to interrupt their conversation. 

Gerald Lorimer sat silently surveying the scenery 
and Ben was able to inspect him at close range. As 
his eyes ran over the frail body, the weak though 
handsome face, the undecided chin and the impatient, 
petulant expression plainly evincing a petty, exacting, 
spoiled nature, it was difficult to conceal his con- 
tempt. 

Ben had heard about the hotel rumors of the fan- 
ciful, selfish actions of this last sprig of a decaying, 
over-civilized stock; a stock that had run its course, 
become attenuated and self-indulgent, refined to a 
fatal extreme, aided to its deterioration by the pos- 
session of great wealth handed down through several 
generations. An artist, and a capable one, Lorimer 
might be, educated he undoubtedly was, showing at 
once the culture and refinement in which he had been 
reared. But even to this wild, uneducated son of 
the plains and mountains it was evident that the 
attributes of a man were sadly lacking. 

To Gerald Lorimer’s stereotyped drawl: “I’m sure 
we all deeply appreciate, don’t you know, your ser- 
vice to Miss Sibyl. I would be glad to do something 
for you,” and to a condescending, suggestive look, 
Ben’s eyes flashed so sharply and cut so deeply, while 
anger and disgust alternately passed over his strong 
face, that even the encrusted perceptions of this prod- 
uct of the effete East realized that he had made a mis- 
take. 

“Y’u needn’t mention ut again, Mr. Lorimer,” Ben 
responded at length in a tone of rock-like hardness. 
“You can’t do anything fur me.” 

74 


15en (Hlarman 


The red came to the artist’s face. Sibyl, either 
ignorantly or maliciously, had not interrupted to re- 
lieve the situation. Though apparently not noticing 
the interchange of words and glances, yet she had 
been chagrined by her brother’s lack of judgment and 
taste. She had noted every expression of Ben War- 
man’s face, the very attitude of his splendid body, 
and exulted at the spirit of the man. Gerald, secretly 
resentful and filled with petty bitterness, sauntered 
over to another group with affected carelessness. 

“Mr. Warman, tell me something about the West,” 
Sibyl requested in a manner that put Ben quite at his 
ease. 

“The West? She’s a big subject. She’s broad un' 
free un’ rough. Consequent, the men,” he continued, 
after surreptitiously noting the elegancies of the long 
figure and costume before him, “are rough. We live 
too close t’ the dirt an’ the rocks t’pay very much 
attention t’education an’ what y’u call the fine things. 
We’re sure un’ ign’rant un’ tough lot.” 

“On the contrary, it seems to me that you — the west- 
ern men — are able to do anything. These men in our 
eastern party are woefully ignorant about everything 
out here.” 

“We don’t expaict them t’know much about the 
West un’ minin’ un’ hosses un’ cattle ur anything out 
here. Y’u see we have t’know how to do things, 
they don’t. They’ve got thur education an’ thur 
money un’ have ’bout all thur time to ’tend to thur- 
selves.” 

“But it’s better to do things and not pay so much 
attention to one’s self.” 

“But I don’t do either one. I cun break a hoss, un" 
shoot — some — un’ run cattle un’ mine, I cun turn a 
stampede and prospect the mountains but I ain’t done 
nuthin’,” and there was just a tinge of bitterness in 
his voice, “worth tellin’ about. Most uv ut can’t be 

75 


IBen (KHarman 


told.” His laugh was not so pleasant this time. “These 
men with yu now,” he continued, “they cun run a 
store ur an office, keep books, make money un’ col- 
lect int’rust ; they know all about stocks un’ bonds un’ 
c’rect clothes un* poetree un’ op’ray.” He smiled 
broadly, exhibiting a row of white, strong, even teeth, 
yet with seriousness in his tones as if he were work- 
ing out a problem. 

“Most of these men,” suggested Sibyl, “operate on 
Wall Street.” 

“Thet seems a purty hefty undertakin’ to a young 
hoss like me a stampedin’ round the plains ; the great- 
est undertakin’ any undertaker ever undertook, uz 
the feller sez. Some nifty doin’s, them. Seems 
like we don’t know nuth — anything about the great 
things out here, Miss Lorimer.” 

It gave Miss Sibyl a peculiar thrill to hear the round, 
full, resonant tones as he spoke her name. 

“The great things ? Why, the great things are all 
out here, Mr. Warman. The great things in you — 
people — are the same as those of your country; 
breadth, power, cleanness, naturalness, bigness. If 
you want to get anywhere you go direct — you have 
the room, the — the inclination and the force to do 
it. You are sincere; there is nothing underhanded or 
dishonorable in you. Life in the East, I mean in the 
big cities, is a maze of intrigue and deception. The 
poor pretend to be well off, your enemy pretends to 
be your friend, the weak pretend to be powerful, the 
nonentities pretend to have influence and acquaint- 
anceship with the mighty. But in their greatest mis- 
take of all they really deceive themselves in thinking 
that they are superior to the rest of the country, espe- 
cially to anything or anybody from the West. They 
are cultured but not sincere.” 

“I guess I follow y’u,” Ben rejoined, “the East 
smiles, the West laughs.” 

76 


TBett (KHarman 


“Yes. Where you are brave in the West they are 
cunning in the East. When you fight, you fight; 
when you play you play hard, in the open ; your pl&y 
may be rough and not altogether — proper, but you 
don’t conceal things. When you hate you do not pre- 
tend to love and when you love — I dare say — you — 
love.” 

This was surely a frank and philosophical young 
woman and Ben was certainly interested. She con- 
tinued, reclining lazily in her chair, regarding him 
with a contemplative light in her curious eyes, ap- 
parently passing on naturally from her last words: 
“Are there any women out here?” 

“Very few, Miss Lorimer. In minin’ camps the 
men are gen’ly single. Through the cattle country 
y’u cun travel fur days an’ never see a petti — a woman. 
Mostly men cooks.” 

“But in the towns? This town?” 

He had tried to keep the inquiry from focalizing 
but she forced it. 

“Thur are a few women — and some women,” he 
finished slowly. 

She was silent for a moment or two. 

“A note for you, Mr. Warman,” a voice interrupted 
and Mary McLaughlin extended a square of white. 
Ben, surprised, opened it at once. Then, suddenly, 
moved by some afterthought, said: “Thank y’u, 
Mary.” And turning to Sibyl, “I beg y’ur pardon. 
I ” 

“Go right on, Mr. Warman. It may be something 
important.” She studied his face as he read, bearing 
in mind his last statement about women in the camp. 
She noticed the half closed eyes and the fine lines 
converging to them, the result of living in the open, 
under excessive light, facing sun, dust, wind, snow 
and rain. 

As Ben read the missive his face expressed genuine 

77 


TScti iHDtarman 


pleasure. “Tell her ” he started impetuously, then 

with obvious restraint concluded: “I'll come.” 

Sibyl’s eyes dropped, then opened wide in affected 
surprise and her tone was one of raillery. “So, there 
is one woman, at least,” she laughed slowly, as if con- 
fidentially, to his face. She had no difficulty in dis- 
cerning the quick flush that mounted to the tanned 
cheeks. 

“It’s from Miss Graham,” he said simply. 

“And who is Miss Graham?” asked Sibyl, with an 
air of quizzical gaiety. The inquiry was a bit reck- 
less as, for aught she knew, Miss Graham could not 
well be discussed. 

“Daughter of Professor Graham, in charge uv the 
school here. They came from the East years ago. 
She is a real western girl now and the daughter o’ 
the camp.” 

“I see, I see,” Sibyl mused for a moment. “Mr. 
Warman, my brother and I are not going back with 
the party. We expect to stay a month or two. Gerald 
wishes to sketch the wonderful scenery around here 
and I — I like the West so well I shall stay with him. 
It will undoubtedly benefit our health, although we are 
not invalids. Really, I am wonderfully healthy. I 
think I am something of a savage at heart — the wild 
things appeal to me. A few months out here will 
make me a regular Amazon. May I impose on you 
to the extent of asking you to accompany us some- 
times as our guide — and friend? We would be glad 
to have you.” 

Ben had an instinctive feeling at the moment that 
there lay possibilities of trouble, he knew not just 
what, they were indefinable, in the proposition; but 
he could see no reasonable excuse for refusing. 

“I’ve got more time ’un anything else the next two 
weeks, Miss Lorimer,” he replied, adjusting his sling. 
“After that I don’t know ef I’ll have the time.” 

78 


T5en (DQarman 


“Thank you. I — ah — should like to meet Miss Gra- 
ham,” proposed Miss Sibyl. 

“She’ll be delighted, sure; you’ll like her too,” he 
rejoined, enthusiastically, starting to take his leave. 
“Ef y’u’ll excuse me now,” he added, turning back 
hastily; for which he was rewarded with a brilliant 
smile, which at the same time so wonderfully trans- 
formed her face. The peculiar eyes flashed, the lips 
disclosed the extraordinary long and regular teeth of 
pearl, her immobile face lighted marvelously. “Cer- 
tainly, Mr. Warman, just so you don’t forget that I 
wish to walk and ride over this fascinating country 
and will need someone to keep me from getting — lost. 
And — don’t get into any more fights over a lady’s 
name. I heard all about that trouble. But if you do 
fight, I’m savage and — loyal enough to hope that you 
whip your antagonist — whoever he may be — without 
mercy.” 

And somehow as he went away Ben could not help 
recalling this last remark and associating it with the 
beautiful, long teeth. 

“Sh’u’dn’t wonder ef she wuz c’rect ’bout havin’ 
savage leanin’s in spite of her tame bringin’ up. I 
begin t’have un idea thet she might develop a red 
streak. A beauty too. I’ll bet she cun show a full 
set o’ dainty claws — ef she ever wants t’use ’em.” 


79 


CHAPTER X 


THE PLANTING OF THE SEED 

The note was a brief invitation from Rose Gra- 
ham to call. Without attempting to surmise its full 
significance, Ben knew that the condemnation was 
lifted. His spirits rose. Falling in with the Professor 
on his way home from school they met Rose at the 
door, clad in a low-collared blue waist, short gray 
walking skirt and mountain boots. A broad, gray, 
felt hat was pinned securely to the mass of dark 
hair. 

Ben’s eyes could scarcely restrain a few apprecia- 
tive and admiring glances at the charming figure, 
the confident poise, the air of being able to take care 
of herself and the situation. This was sharply en- 
hanced when he caught sight of the shining butt of 
a small revolver peeping from a pocket on the right 
side of her heavy skirt. He approved heartily. The 
mountains were still somewhat wild and, among a 
land of men, there was an occasional reptile. 

With a frankness that delighted the young miner 
Rose gave him her hand. Her eyes were clear and 
grave but steady as she said: “I sent for you, Mr. 
Warman, to apologize. We did not know all the facts 
—and ” 

“Don’t say anuther word, Miss Rose,” interrupted 
Ben eagerly. “I won’t have ut. I’ll jest say I knew 
thur was somethin’ wrong somewheres ; kind o’ got the 
brands mixed. It’s all right.” 

His open, pleased face and hearty manner made 
further words unnecessary. However, Rose had one 
more statement to make. 

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15en MJatman 


“In addition we owe you an acknowledgment of 
service. We want to thank you.” 

“Let’s go fur y’ur walk,” rejoined Ben humorously. 

“You may call it ours if you wish,” she smiled in 
response. 

The Professor excused himself. “A work on cop- 
per deposits is claiming my attention these days and I 
think I’ll enjoy a couple of hours of reading, if you 
don’t mind, dearie. The deposition of minerals ” 

“I’ll be back in time to get supper, Daddy.” 

They sauntered along the foothills to the mouth 
of the canyon where the Lost Dog tumbled out of 
the mountains onto the plain. For some time neither 
spoke as they watched the sunlight flashing through 
the crystal waters that sparkled and gurgled around 
the bowlders that bestrewed the bed of the stream. 

“Miss Rose,” said Ben presently, “when I left y’ur 
house the other night I hed a purty hard time uv 
ut fur a while ; purty nigh bogged down. Thur 
didn’t seem to be any use in anything; I mean any- 
thing new ur better. Wuz jest about ready to let go 
all holts but I sorter got muh dander up thataway and 
first thing I knew — I ” 

“You what?” 

“Promised muhself.” 

Rose turned and looked directly, gravely, search- 
ingly into the frank, blue eyes, then, as if satisfied 
with what she saw there, extended her hand as a 
comrade might do. 

“I congratulate you. I believe you will keep that 
promise. But,” she continued after a moment’s deep 
thought, “if you should fail once — or twice — don’t 
give up. Try again.” 

Ben’s face shone as he took the soft but firm and 
capable hand. 

“With you t’encourage me I’ll sure go through, Miss 
Rose. It makes a heap o’ difference. I started alone 
81 


IBcn SZBarman 


and thinkin’ y’u c’u’dn’t hev anything more t’do ’ith 
me, un’ I w’u’d a tried anyway; but now thet every- 
thing is all right I’m a sure winner in the end/’ 

“You have great will power and I am sure you 
would have succeeded anyway, Mr. Warman.” 

“You’ll excuse me fur callin’ y’u Rose, won’t yuh? 
Y’u cun even it up by callin’ me Ben, yuh know,” and 
he smiled rather audaciously. “I ain’t used to bein’ 
called Mr. Warman. It don’t jest set right. Then 
agin we don’t — don’t belong t’ th’ East,” he concluded 
with a sonorous laugh. 

Rose, after some consideration, her tone matter 
of fact, answered : 

“Very well, it shall be as you say. I think — I prefer 
that way.” 

The sun darted white arrows of light through the 
thick-needled branches of the pines to the waters be- 
neath and the flickering shafts, like shimmering shut- 
tles, wove a tapestry of light and shadow, of crystal- 
line woof and silvery warp. Around them quivered 
the white leaves of the “quakin’ asps,” giving forth 
a faint rustling as they quivered in the light breeze. 
This was the only sound, save the singing waters, 
to break nature’s deep silence. A chipmunk darted 
swiftly the length of a fallen tree, then, after this 
show of agitation and fright, suddenly sat bolt up- 
right, regarding them with bright, tiny, inquisitive 
eyes, and chattering excited expostulations. 

It was Rose that broke the silence: “Do you find 
it hard to abandon the old ways ?” 

“To tell the truth,” Ben answered, “it ain’t easy. 
It’s a fight all right, all right. It’s sure aggravatin’ 
ut times tuh beat y’ur energies agin thin air when 
they wants somethin’ solid to strike.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea not to suppress 
your energies?” 

“How’s thet?” 


82 


"Ben (KBarmatt 


“Find something solid — and good, worth while, to 
strike. What do you expect to do?” 

“Well, I thought I’d settle down tuh hard work in 
the mines; kind o’ put muhself down fur a sentence 
uh hard work thataway ; thet wuz the sentence, wuzn’t 
ut?” He turned laughing eyes upon her. “But it’s 
purty much routine. I need somethin’ livelier. I’ll 
go prospectin’ later/’ 

“There are a good many things, and many good 
things for a man to do. I do not mean days’ work. 
Something larger, worthy of a man’s ambition. It 
seems to me if I was a man ” 

“Sho’now. Thur ain’t anybody wishin’ y’u wuz ; 
but ef y’u wuz, spozin’ any sech bad luck, what w’u’d 
y’u do?” 

“Some of the things father has in mind are prac- 
tical, I am sure. Find mineral lands, open them up 
and sell them if you can’t develop them. They need 
a railroad in here. Father says that flat down there,” 
she pointed out over the plain along the course of the 
stream below them with gauntleted hand, “will raise 
all kinds of fine crops by turning these waters out 
over it by ditches. They call it irrigation. It’s not 
done much in this country yet but father says that 
history has been trying to remind Americans of the 
idea. Egypt had it centuries and centuries ago. Down 
in old Mexico the Aztecs knew its value a thousand 
years ago and there are still visible ditches built by 
them for that purpose in bygone centuries.” 

Ben pondered over her words but made no 
reply. 

“According to Daddy’s idea that soil down there 
covered with sage-brush is as fertile as any in the 
world. All it needs is moisture. There is the land. 

| Up here in the mountains are the rain and snow-fall, 
the moisture. It’s elevated, it can be turned aside 
just at this point and made to water, this stream alone, 

83 


15 en ffflJarmait 


thousands upon thousands of acres of that plain that 
looks so like a desert.” 

“Thet’ud be a great thing,” Ben answered finally, 
“but thur’s lots o’ land left yet thet don’t need to 
be watered thataway. They call ut God’s country — 
where ut rains.” 

“No. There’s where you are mistaken. In a very 
short time the available rain land will be gone. And 
even if it was not, this land under irrigation will raise 
bigger crops and better quality.” 

“What? Y’u mean t’say this’ud be more produc- 
tive ?” 

“That’s it, exactly. This would be the more sci- 
entific way. You apply just what water you wish 
to each crop just when it needs it. There would be 
no flood and no drouth; no failures, no bad years.” 

“Sounds reasonable,” said Ben, scratching his head 
with the perplexity of such a new idea. “But why 
ain’t this system ben taken up here in the West ef ut 
cun be done?” 

“Simply because our people have not been edu- 
cated up to the possibilities. And as long as there 
was some rain or semi-rain land left, they haven’t 
bothered. But Daddy says it won’t be fifteen years 
before the increasing population of the country will 
overrun this section and, from necessity, take up all 
the land that can be watered, even if they have to 
build big reservoirs at enormous expense and run 
ditches for a hundred miles. Such an opportunity 
as that one right down there, worth many thousands 
now will be worth millions. There are ten thousand 
acres there in the river bottom and fifty thousand 
acres more on the Mesa on either side that can be 
covered by this water, through ditches from some- 
where near this point. 

“Sometimes when Daddy goes into raptures over 
what could be done with this ground I think he must 

84 


'Ben MJarman 


be dreaming. Then I think it all over again and I 
feel, I know he is right. It’s reasonable. It’s true. ,, 

Ben gazed at her admiringly. Enthusiasm was be- 
ginning to light up his face. Then the light faded. 

“But I — I c’u’dn’t do any of these here things y’u 
talk about.” 

“Of course you could.” She turned and faced him 
directly, her face animated, a fervent spirit shining 
from her brown-black eyes. “Once you start your 
ambition and your energies, your fighting spirit on 
some of these things, you would find that you had 
the ability — and — you would find it easier — to forget 
the old — the useless ways.” 

“Me open mines? Me build a railroad? Me put 
that land under water and cultivation un’ raise crops? 
Thet w’u’d be somethin’ wuth while now, w’u’dn’t 
ut? W’u’dn’t be no — any beatin’ uv energies agin 
thin air thur! Thur’s sure substance ’nough in them 
things t’give a man a plumb plenty uh resistance! 
Ef thet land, ten, twenty, fifty thousand acres c’u’d 
be made ter perduce crops, jest ordinary crops, this 
town’ud soon jump. Un’ thet w’u’dn’t be all. A rail- 
road, un’ she’d hev t’come ef thet plain wuz per- 
ducin’, ud make a joe-dandy town out uh Diorite! 
Think o’ buildin’ up a town, ’ith real houses out uh 
frame un’ brick un’ stone; with cupelos and dinguses 
on ’em, un’ stores un’ schools ’ith bells, un’ churches 
’ith more bells un’ steeples un’ — un’ mortgages, — 
say! there ain’t no end to ut, is thur? This ol’ West 
we thought wuz fit only tuh run cattle over w’u’d 
make a — a empire, w’u’dn’t ut? Un’ I almost furgot, 
it ud make big wealth fur the feller thet put’er through. 

Un’ — un’ thet ’ud mean ” his voice ceased in deep 

meditation. 

Rose’s face was softly radiant as he began to carry 
the idea forward, loose his imagination and project 
his thoughts. Was the soil fertile? The seed had 

85 


TStn ftUarmatt 


taken root. In a proper soil the growth should be 
certain. Was there sufficient of the life-giving mois- 
ture of purpose, will, ambition, steadfastness in the 
character of this man to result in real growth, fruit- 
age and harvest? 

“They are really worth the efforts of a man,” she 
suggested, “a man’s man, aren’t they?” 

“They sure are. Why, stoppin’ a stampede don’t 
begin tuh run on the same track! Compared to them 
things breakin’ a outlaw is uz easy uz pushin’ over 
a cripple. Them propositions are sure hard rock. 
Drill un’ blast, no soft pickin’. But why don’t the 
Professor take these matters up? They’re his idees. 
He sh’u’d carry ’em out. He’s entitled t’all thur is 
in ut.” 

Rose sighed. “He is not young enough, he is not 
practical enough, he hasn’t the persistence and the 
energy. It’s for a man — like you, not for him.” 

Ben laughed. “But all this takes money un’ a heap 
uv ut. My roll sure w’u’dn’t go fur toward chokin’ a 
pipe-fine.” 

“You’ll have to work that out some way. But it’s 
plain. If you have no money of your own — use some- 
one else’s.” 

Ben looked at her, startled. Her face was serious, 
though she gave a little smile at the look of peculiar 
inquiry. It was not a joke. “No, you don’t rob a 
bank or a train. Interest people who have money 
lying idle or drawing three per cent, back East. Show 
them the value of the idea. You can demonstrate 
to them mathematically that their money might just 
as well be earning ten or fifteen per cent, instead of 
three, besides doing some good with it — making a 
country, constructing something, building an empire.” 

“Un’ I keep a big share for findin’ un’ startin’ the 
thing?” 

“That’s it.” 


86 


13en iBHatman 


“Fur discoverin’ ut?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, no. Thet don’t go. Not me. You un’ the 
Professor are the ones thet discovered this un’ started 
it.” 

“No, we haven’t started it; that’s just the point. 
You’ll have to do that, and carry it through too. It 
all depends on you.” 

Ben’s eyes twinkled. “Well, we’ll compromise by 
callin’ ut a partnership ; a third fur me and two-thirds 
fur you two.” 

“No, two-thirds for you and one-third for us.” 
They both laughed heartily at the growing conceit of 
their ideas. 

“Thet’s un agreement, anyway, un’ the partnership’s 
a go; but she’s fur a third int’rust fur each uv us. 
And she includes irrigationin’, railroadin’, town 
buildin’, minin’ un’ findin’s.” 

They shook hands in merry mood over the com- 
pact. The suggestion seemed largely a play-house 
affair and yet there lurked an undertone of seriousness 
about the talk and agreement. 

Thus they sat and conversed. And while the girl 
looked far and thoughtfully upon the scenery that 
spread wide beneath them like a map, Ben’s eyes were 
upon her. In everything about her there was rich 
promise of the future; in the sweeping curves of her 
well-set shoulders to the full, strong, graceful throat, 
well revealed by the low collar; in the oval line of 
the firm, round chin to the perfect ear ; in the mouth, 
large enough to show strength of will but relieved by 
the fullness of the lips that bespoke sympathy, ten- 
derness and womanly sweetness; in the eyes, wide 
apart, large, dark, steady, fearless, glowing with sin- 
cerity and constancy; in the black-brown hair, which, 
with a slight but irresistible tendency to curl, com- 
promised with restraint by reducing itself to waves 

87 


'Ben <M3atman 


that rebelliously wrapped themselves about the broad 
forehead and occasionally escaped to hide an ear or 
curl in little tendrils at the nape of the round neck. 
Her hair was indeed a crowning glory, loose, mas- 
sive, of a rich duskiness, a splendid setting for the 
well shaped head, the broad, full brow and regular 
features, and matching the dusk of her eyes. Ben 
felt an almost overpowering desire to plunge his hand 
into its depths. 

Her figure was strong, with a girlish strength, of 
a build that presaged rounded development in near 
approaching years. The whole impression given was 
one, not of striking or delicate beauty, but of quiet 
charm that grew mysteriously upon one. In all was 
a glorious promise already beginning fulfillment. 
With it all she possessed a dignity and common sense 
matter of factness that could melt to affection and 
tenderness ; strength of mind that could bow and give 
way to womanly feeling. 

So Ben Warman saw and analyzed her and the more 
he observed and studied, the deeper it settled into his 
consciousness that there was more than frank, com- 
rade liking, more than admiration for her qualities 
and attainments in his heart. He could not now bear 
the thought that she might cease altogether to be a 
part of his life. She had come to be more than an 
attractive or agreeable companion or friend. He loved 
her. And should he be able later to prove himself 
worthy of her he would tell her; but now it was not 
to be thought of, or at least only to be thought of ; to 
speak would not only be presumptuous but prema- 
ture. 

Meanwhile it was for him to refrain from his for- 
mer unworthy habits and reckless practices; to work 
and acquire property and money and a name, some- 
thing he had never contemplated before; to educate 
himself as a man should who hoped — for what he now 
88 


T5en IQarman 


vaguely yearned; in short, to lift himself to a sphere 
of cleanness, usefulness and some degree of culture 
approaching, if not attaining, hers. 

Now that the misunderstanding had been so frankly 
and honestly removed, with such genuine regret on 
her part for its temporary existence, he was once 
more brooding over the possibilities; once more gen- 
erating new ideas and purposes ; resolving with more 
determination than ever to start up the long, hard 
incline of reformation and achievement. 

They looked upon the blue and white of the sky 
with its suggestion of infinite peace and content. Far 
away glimmered snow-crested ridges, mountain white- 
caps. Overhead the blue of aerial lakes appeared be- 
tween the cumulous, sailing clouds — those white fly- 
ing squadrons of the sky on missions of peace, so 
near their captains could almost be hailed. Far in 
the distance out on the plain appeared a black dot 
in the infinity of space — a lone horseman. A mote 
floated in the azure above — a lone eagle. 

Ben had ever been a lover of nature. The music 
of its beauty and freedom had ever sung in his breast, 
but never had he realized all the wondrous charm 
and glory of the mountains, the sky and the plain 
as at this moment. He had loved it all fiercely, as 
that eagle far above them. Now it spoke a softer, 
sweeter note. Again a new deep in his personality 
was touched. 

“We must be going back,” she said finally, with a. 
slight sigh at the necessity. 

With his free hand he clasped hers and assisted her 
to rise. A new sensation came to him at the warm, 
firm clasp; it was the feeling of mutuality, of trust,, 
of a near relationship, of a completion of him- 
self. 

Still in that haunting, thoughtful mood they re- 
traced their steps along the babbling stream until they 
89 


15 en OHarman 


emerged once more upon the almost level plain, which, 
to the northeast, stretched world without end. 

To Ben was given the privilege, inestimable in his 
present mood, of partaking of the evening meal with 
Rose and the Professor. And again they sat with- 
out the doorway and silently watched that old yet 
ever new miracle of sunset as the King of Day de- 
parted, flinging about him with royal abandon and 
magnificence the purple of his imperial robes. Crim- 
son tipped spears of light were cast heavenward by 
the titanic hands of his warriors from below the 
horizon. Evening donned her gray mantle. Night 
threw his black cloak across the skies. 

They talked of the future, of the grandeur of the 
mighty West, of the opportunities for those who have 
faith and who perform works. The Professor spoke 
earnestly and with deep feeling and there seemed to 
Ben and Rose, as he talked on and on, with eyes look- 
ing into the vasty darkness, something of the spirit 
of prophecy and truth and inner knowledge not vouch- 
safed to them. 

In a crude fashion Ben appreciated the depth of 
the old scholar’s knowledge. This old man was often 
wild, extravagant and fanciful but he now touched on 
deeps of vital truths and great ideas that opened new 
vistas to the brain of the wild youth and caused him 
to more than vaguely visualize the teeming pictures 
that filled the mind of this odd, learned, foolish, wise 
man. 

Ben’s understanding was widened immeasurably. 
New realms, wonderful, illimitable, were opened to 
him. The great West now held a higher meaning than 
any he had ever known; greater than the mere free- 
dom — freedom to roam, to follow fancy and inclina- 
tion ; a wider significance than mere vastness of area, 
a grander attribute than mere beauty. It began to 
impress upon him opportunity, and, with opportunity, 
90 


T5tn ft&arman 


duty ; and, with duty, responsibility ; and, with re- 
sponsibility, expansion of individual powers — growth, 
intellectually, morally. 

His conceptions spread under the inspiration of the 
hour and the eloquence and vision of the old scholar 
until they beheld in reality an empire — an empire 
that should shelter, provide for and uplift millions 
of men, women and children. He saw that, in the 
effort necessary to bring even an infinitesimal part 
of that great empire to reality lay the means by which 
and through which his own life might find worthy 
object, exercise its greatest powers and develop him 
to the stature of high manhood. 

Then the Professor told of the wonders of nature, 
of the mysteries of geology, of mighty treasures in 
the rocks yet to be disclosed, and finally of the splen- 
dor of production, the marvelous fruitfulness of the 
soil, when it would be brought under that ancient 
system called irrigation. 

“Listen,” he said, “and I will tell you the Genesis 
of Reclamation, the story of Desert and Living 
Waters. 

“Desert lay dry-eyed, fierce and brooding. The 
blazing sun smote him with a heat that sank deeper 
and deeper into his burning body and held him in 
iron thrall. The hot winds writhed and twisted the 
dry sands, swept and eddied and piled them in heaps, 
but to anon scatter and destroy. No living thing 
sought his company save the deadly, the poisonous, 
the hideous, things filled with heat-engendered venom. 
The rocks and ridges, cracked and grim, were but the 
knottings and ridgings of his mighty thews as he 
strained against his leashings with the pent up fury of 
despair. 

“The sand storms, piercing and pitiless, smiting with 
their million needles, sweeping like gray pestilences 
across the voids, were but the aching throes and con- 
91 


TBeit SxHarman 


vulsions of his drouth-tortured heart. The thunder 
of the dry storms were his groans and the slithering 
lightnings were the flashes and shootings of pain 
along his tensed nerves. The racking dryness of the 
years had all but sucked the last drop of blood-mois- 
ture from his heart and dark despair had graven 
its terrible hieroglyphics upon his rugged face. Sterile, 
sullen, sinister, yet magnificent, he lay prostrate, 
shackled, inert — awful in his fettered, dry-locked 
strength. 

“High up on the side of a neighboring range a 
mountain stream, Living Waters, Daughter of the 
Snow-God, who ruled in white majesty over his do- 
minions, daily journeyed down the great slope, flow- 
ing, leaping, laughing, beautiful beyond compare. She 
sprang along, bubbling with joy, gurgling with glad- 
ness, dashing in misty cataracts, spraying falls and 
dancing riffles, hued with rainbow prisms, sparkling 
with crystal diamonds; rested and slept in darkling 
green and silver deeps and eddies, to again spring 
forward with renewed ecstacy. 

“Long had Desert silently wooed her with his som- 
ber and gloomy gaze and his great loneliness had 
touched her heart. And when the fiery ball of day 
had withdrawn his terrible, white light, when the 
cool shadows of evening relieved Desert’s aching brow 
and the softening lights of the receding day made him 
glorious in red and purple and bronze she saw that 
he was not only strong but beautiful with the stern 
beauty of a man; saw his real self, rich with capa- 
bilities, full of latent powers, eager to fulfill a great 
■destiny. And she loved him. 

“She had, now and then, uncertainly, timorously, 
touched the fringes of his garments in passing and 
heard the deep murmurings of his heart. And one 
marvelous day, unable longer to resist his silent plead- 
ings, the tumult in her own heart, her longings rising 
92 


15m ©Harman 


to flood tide, she turned from her wonted course, 
leaped down a strange ravine and throbbing with joy 
rushed to meet him in glad surrender. 

“With passion he saw her coming, opened wide his 
arms, clasped her to his broad breast and drank and 
drank with the thirst of long awful years of her fresh 
beauty. She gave herself to him and he to her. She 
filled his veins, softened his heart, permeated his 
being, exalted his soul. The day of his redemption 
was come. His bonds were loosed. He rose in the 
majesty of his newly freed strength. His powers 
expanded. And lo ! From that union were born vistas 
of waving grasses, nodding trees, blushing flowers, and 
golden grain; smiling, peaceful and glad/’ 

A rapt silence followed as the Professor ceased. 
He had woven a spell about his listeners. 

“It is so beautiful/’ breathed Rose softly. 

“I can’t find any words t’tell ut but I’m a feelin’ it 
deep,” said Ben slowly. 

For Ben the story held a far deeper significance. 
He was Desert ; Rose was Living Waters. The stream 
of her influence had touched his life, and, as the 
mountain waters touched the edge of the plain, leav- 
ing a refreshing border of grasses and shrubbery 
and an occasional flower, so she had already caused 
a fringe of good purposes and motives to spring into 
his existence, to give promise to his life. Ah, if like 
the waters that turned their entire course and flow 
upon the desert, not to touch and pass on but to enter 
it, permeate it and lose themselves in it, she would 
not only come into brief contact but give her life to 
his, lose herself in him! If he could but absorb that 
bright, rich, pure, refreshing life, then — ah then — 
even as the glorious fruitage of the vast fields 
and the beautiful flowers of the gardens, even so 
would be the achievements and victories of his 
life! 


93 


TBen JDQarman 


Long after Ben retired that eventful night he lay 
awake looking into himself and into the future. His 
visions grew and grew until came dream-thronged 
sleep. 


94 


CHAPTER XI 


THE IRON CAPPING 

The Professor, unexpectedly to Rose, brought home 
with him Sibyl and Gerald Lorimer. He could not 
resist the temptation to acquaint himself with the 
party of Easterners. They were much surprised at his 
learning and experience in the East and in foreign 
universities. 

Under the inspiration of their presence and the 
memories they recalled he was brilliant, yet dignified. 
On being introduced to Sibyl she informed him that 
she had met an acquaintance of his daughter and 
himself, and would be glad to meet Miss Graham, as 
she contemplated remaining at Diorite for several 
months. 

“Delighted. Delighted to have you come with me 
to the house this evening — now; your brother also. 
Rose will certainly be pleased to know you and to 
know that you are to stay a while. Society — the so- 
cial qualities — but there, I must not get started to 
talking. Come right along with me now.” 

Sibyl smiled graciously, her smile lighting up her 
mask-like face so suddenly as to startle even the Pro- 
fessor. And thus it was in her own house Rose Gra- 
ham met Sibyl Lorimer and her brother, whose lives 
were to be strangely and tragically mingled with hers 
in the days to follow. If her strong, womanly in- 
tuition whispered any warning to her, as she took 
the hand of each, it was not apparent in her man- 
ner. 

Sibyl and Gerald had expected to meet a common- 

95 


13tn (KBarman 


place, ordinary girl, possibly even amusing. Sibyl’s 
interest in Rose, because of the mention of her name 
by Ben Warman and his manner of speaking, had be- 
come quite lively. However, she concealed her sur- 
prise at the quiet charm, the intelligence and the glori- 
ous promise of beauty in the girl. In well bred 
cordiality, without traces of condescension, she ex- 
plained to Rose their presence in the West and their 
purpose to remain at the camp for several months. 
Though refraining from direct questioning she was 
extremely curious regarding the history of the Gra- 
hams. 

“You must take time to join Gerald and myself 
in some of the trips we are to take about the coun- 
try here,” she insisted, smiling sweetly. 

Rose had at once been attracted by the face and 
demeanor, the evident culture, elegance of figure, dress 
and speech of this hot-house flower of the far East, 
which to her included the middle West, whence she 
had come as a child and to which her hopes and dreams 
for the future were directed. 

But when she met the direct gaze of those peculiar 
golden-brown eyes, so unexpected and strange a color, 
she was conscious of something repelling and she 
intuitively restrained her natural frankness. A 
guarded reserve took its place. She felt that her en- 
tire trust and confidence could never be reposed in 
their beautiful visitor. 

Rose was human, intensely so under her self-con- 
tained exterior, and, having in mind Miss Lorimer’s 
gallant rescue by Ben Warman, she quietly studied in 
her turn the personality of this young lady who had 
had so dangerous and romantic an experience at the 
very outset of her visit to Diorite; an experience in 
which Ben Warman figured so prominently. 

“If she had color in her face she would be very 
beautiful,” thought Rose. She said: “I shall cer- 
96 


TSett JSJarman 


tainly be pleased to accompany you at times,” she 
said. “I have quite a number of duties here at home. 
My hours are not entirely my own but I shall doubt- 
less be able to join you occasionally.” 

Sibyl regarded her again curiously as she spoke of 
housework and teaching. She glanced guardedly at 
Rose’s hands and noted that they were somewhat 
roughed and browned but well formed. She had never 
done housework, had never taught, had never done 
anything. But she was far too sensible, too wisely 
calculating, too broad in her mental grasp to allow 
anything of a false superiority to enter her manner. 
In fact, she had come, in the short time she had been 
West, to be partially disgusted with the life of the 
idle rich, the superficial life of her society smart set, 
and to admire intensely those who could do and did 
do things. 

“I thank you,” continued Rose, “for your kindness. 
Of course you understand that you are welcome here 
at any and all times during your stay without further 
or formal invitation.” 

“You are very kind,” rejoined Sibyl softly. Her 
voice struck Rose as exquisitely modulated. “We shall 
avail ourselves of the opportunity, you may be sure. 
By the way,” she added carelessly, “it will doubtless 
make no difference to you but I have also invited Mr. 
Warman, while he is in enforced idleness on account 
of his injury, to be one of our party — to go with us 
as a guide — and friend.” 

Sibyl watched close the fair face of her companion 
to read if possible the heart of the girl ; to know what 
interest, if any, Rose had in this man — the only man 
who had interested her. But there was no change of 
expression, no new light in the clear, wide eyes, no 
betrayal of any emotion in the calm countenance of 
Rose Graham at the mention of the name of Ben War- 


man. 


97 


T5tn ffiJarmatt 


In her even tones the self-possessed girl answered: 
“It will make no difference.” 

“She apparently has no interest in him,” thought 
Sibyl swiftly. But she was far from convinced. 

“He saved my life,” she said simply. 

“He is a brave man,” rejoined Rose calmly. Then, 
with more feeling, she added: “We are all glad he 
was there at the mine to save you.” 

“That one incident,” said Sibyl, “is sufficient proof 
for all time that he is a brave man. Brave in one, 
brave in all, they say. I imagine he is something of 
a man in every respect.” 

“Yes,” interjected the Professor, who had been 
having an animated, on his side, discussion with Gerald 
Lorimer. “Ex pede Herculem — We recognize a Her- 
cules from his foot.” 

The Professor had a habit of interpolating proverbs 
of foreign tongues, preferably Latin, and then hastily 
adding their translation as he recalled that everybody 
was not familiar with Greek, Latin, French, and 
German. The presence of the party from the East 
seemed suddenly to have stimulated the habit. It 
was a fine opportunity to display, no, not to display, 
but to make use of, his erudition. 

“He is also a man who, I should judge, is accus- 
tomed to doing as he pleases, having his own way, 
taking what he desires,” added Sibyl, who took this 
method to do a little investigating and to confirm her 
own ideas. 

“ ‘Vi et armis — By force and arms/ ” humorously 
answered the Professor. “ ‘Terrse filius — He is a son 
of the earth/ ” he concluded sententiously. Sibyl’s 
head seemed to nod affirmation. 

While ostensibly listening with the degree of at- 
tention politeness required to the Professor’s observa- 
tions on art, concluding, “Mutum est pictura poema, — 
A picture is a silent poem,” Gerald Lorimer’s eyes 
98 


'Ben SiQatman 


had been upon Rose. She was a type that struck 
his artistic sensibilities and he dwelt on the pure lines 
of her face, her brow and the beauty of her heavy, 
dark hair. Had the Professor not been so enthusi- 
astic in the expression of his own views he must 
have noticed a singular lack of ideas and responsive- 
ness on the part of his artist guest. 

And so it happened that on the following Saturday 
afternoon these four dissimilar young people, enter- 
ing complications that were to become entangled, that 
were to bring love and passion, hope and despair, 
deceit and revenge, hatred and friendship, exaltation 
and degradation, mystery, ruin and happiness in their 
train, were riding along a mountain road some seven 
miles from Diorite. 

Rose was attired in her usual manner when riding, 
her walking attire, save the divided skirt. She rode 
astride and presented a picture of youth, health and 
virile grace. Sibyl, likewise, following western cus- 
tom, rode astride. Her garments were extremely and 
newly western. The cowboy hat with rakish tilt rested 
on her golden hair, the wide, silk handkerchief knotted 
loosely about her slender throat and falling upon her 
bosom, the fringed and gauntleted gloves, the high, 
laced riding-boots of softest, brown leather, all were 
partly affected and partly the result of a real and 
sudden passion for everything western. Evidently 
she courted the browning effect of wind and sun, for 
she refused to encumber her face with a veil. The 
transition of an eastern young lady of high society 
to a free, independent, typical western girl, at least 
in attire, was complete. The result was strikingly 
picturesque. 

Rose and Ben both wondered where she had ac- 
quired her western habiliments so quickly and were 
further surprised at the quickness and ease with which 
she harmonized herself with this new atmosphere and 

99 


'Ben ©Harman 


was making herself a part of it. She seemed to have 
the faculty of rapid adjustment and assimilation. Save 
for the lack of color and for her speech, and barring 
the fact that she called the saddle cinch a “waistband,” 
she might have been of the West for years. She car- 
ried herself with sinuous grace and managed her horse 
with skill. 

Gerald Lorimer had refused to ''Iter his artist ap- 
pearance and affected no westernisms. But there was 
not the extreme care and punctiliousness to the ob- 
servant eye about him that had been so noticeable at 
his arrival in Diorite. There seemed to be a slight 
letting down of his standard, a carelessness of the 
niceties of speech, manner and dress. His admira- 
tion and appreciation of the magnificent scenery was 
genuine and limitless. It was the only subject on 
which he spoke with enthusiasm. He was an indif- 
ferent horseman and had little interest in or care or 
sympathy for the animal he rode. 

They had spent the day in the hills, camping for 
lunch at a beautiful little spot among the noble, stately 
pines, from which a small stream murmured away 
down the slope after splashing into view from a small 
shelf of moss-grown rock. 

The slender, branchless-trunked, thick-topped pines 
formed avenues of pillars and a continuous canopy 
through which the sunlight scarcely sifted. The sym- 
pathetic vision could almost discern, in the dusky 
mystery of these silent corridors, with their wavering 
shadows, gliding forms of delicate beauty — sprites, 
elfins, fairies, the spirits of the woods and mountains, 
— pass silently through the twilight-haunted isles of 
green. 

It was natural that Rose should be escorted by Lori- 
mer and Sibyl by Ben. This was the manner of their 
going, except when the varying speed of their horses 
or the winding of the trail occasioned an indiscrimi- 
ioo 


'Ben ffllarman 


nate mingling or opposite pairing. Rose was the con- 
stant object of Lorimer’s moody regard. He attempted 
little conversation although occasionally brightening 
to her efforts at sociability. 

While there had been no open rupture between Lori- 
mer and Warman, there was not only a lack of cordial- 
ity but a dislike, discernible, though repressed. Their 
natures clashed. Ben had no use for the weak, petu- 
lant, selfish artist, though sympathizing with his love 
of nature and admiring his genius for reproducing it 
on the canvas. To Lorimer’s effeminate nature War- 
man was coarse in his strength, rude in manner and 
overbearing in the very power of his rough personality. 
Lorimer’s associates had not included men who were 
so direct, so plain spoken. To him the lack of polish 
and culture was a crime, frankness was unsophistica- 
tioit directness, brutality. 

For the sake of the ladies Ben, accustomed as he 
was to speak and act his likes and dislikes in utter 
disregard of others, made a much more creditable 
attempt to mask his feelings and be courteous than did 
the product of the city and the East. This was not easy. 
But to the necessity he bent a dominant, surging will. 

Rose saw and noted and was pleased with the prog- 
ress her pupil was making in his efforts at self-com- 
mand. Sibyl apparently noticed nothing, yet nothing 
escaped her remarkable eyes. 

Ben’s arm was still resting in the sling under the 
doctor’s orders, but was practically well. He did not 
seem to need it; in fact, his management of Mesa 
seemed to be entirely with his body and limbs. At 
the last moment for some reason he had strapped on 
his belt and long Colt. His attire and gun, which had 
been so long a part of his daily life that he was un- 
conscious of them, caused him to present a splendid 
picture. He might well have posed for a model of 
“The Young West.” He looked its spirit incarnate. 

IOI 


ISett ffOatman 


He continued to be surreptitiously the object of Sibyl’s 
scrutiny and study. 

Ben led the way, winding along a side trail that 
rapidly dwindled into nonexistence. Gerald’s horse 
stopped in preparation to taking him safely over the 
trunk of a fallen tree. It was a good mountain pony 
and knew the business of the trail. But Lorimer 
impatiently pressed his spurs. The animal responded 
with a quick leap that almost unseated him. Ben 
had turned just in time to witness the performance. 

“Don’t do that, Lorimer, y’u’re liable to start the 
hoss a pitchin,” he said sharply. 

Lorimer resented the advice and the tone of it. “I 
guess I can manage him,” he responded sullenly. 

Ben looked as though he was about to retort with 
emphasis but closed his lips grimly and turned away. 
At last they all came to a halt at Ben’s side. He in- 
dicated that it was the objective point. 

“What is it ?” inquired Sibyl, looking around. They 
had expected to be led to some jutting eminence from 
which they would behold another stupendous picture ; 
but ragged rocks, ledges, standing and down timber 
surrounded them. 

Rose quietly waited, knowing that Ben had some- 
thing of interest. He pointed to the ground. They 
were standing on the edge of a ledge which had crum- 
bled almost even with the surface, some thirty feet 
in width and visible for two hundred feet in length 
on the surface. It then disappeared beneath the wash 
and the timber. It was a curious yellow-brown dike. 
Large bowlders, honeycombed, of the same material, 
lay loosely on the ledge while other masses had fallen 
and rolled some distance down the slope. 

“What is it?” again asked Sibyl. 

“Iron,” laconically said Ben. 

“Iron !” repeated Lorimer. “Nothing very interest- 
ing about that. Is that all?” 

102 


IBett ©Harman 


“All for the present,” Ben replied drily. Turning 
to Rose he spoke rapidly and earnestly. “Do y’u 
remember y’ur father speakin’ ’bout copper? Don’t 
y’u recall his statement thet this wuz more of a cop- 
per district than gold? He told me thet ef I c’u’d 
discover a gossan, an iron capping of this here kind 
thur’d sure be rich copper in ut with depth. Don’t y’u 
remember ?” 

“I do,” exclaimed Rose, her interest now intense. 
*‘And this is it?” 

“Ut is. I hed ben this way before un’ when y’ur 
father spoke uv a lead uh this kind I remembered ut. 
A few days ago I came up and located three claims 
on this lead.” 

He pointed to a small pile of leached, porous iron 
lying on the surface. Beside it was a discovery shaft 
ten feet deep. In a crevice of the lead a small stake 
stood upright, supported by a pile of small stones and 
bowlders, one side shaved smooth and bearing some 
inscription. Rose quickly crossed and read a mining 
discovery notice. Underneath appeared the names: 
Homer Graham, Rose Graham, Ben Warman. 

“Why,” exclaimed Rose, “you have put us in as lo- 
cators with you!” 

“Thet’s the idea,” said Ben, smiling as he took 
off his hat, held it under his injured arm and ran 
his free hand through his blond clusters, a habit he 
had when pleased, “thet’s the partnership, ain’t ut? 
Thet’s c’rect; a third int’rust each. Yuh’ll find two 
more claims the same way, end-linin’ this ’un each 
way. This is the Columbine claim. The others ur’ 
the Columbines Nos. Two and Three.” 

“What a pretty name ! How did you come to name 
them so ?” Sibyl inquired. She had beeen an attentive 
listener to the conversation, particularly where it 
touched on the matter of a partnership. 

“Come un’ I’ll show yuh.” 

103 


T5m <K!arman 


He led the way over the lead to the farther side, 
where the erosion had been resisted sufficiently to 
leave the edge of the ledge projecting some five feet 
above the surface, picking up as he crossed a piece of 
the yellow, sponge-like iron of the lead and placing it 
in his pocket. Lorimer, behind him, also took up a 
piece of the same and examined it superciliously. 
Just beneath them, appearing to spring from the very 
rock, stood numerous clusters of Columbines, on their 
straight, long, slender stalks, looking up at them, ar- 
rayed in the purest purple and white with a touch 
of gold in their centers. 

The girls drew in their breaths sharply with ad- 
miration and exclaimed aloud. Ben sprang down, 
plucked a handful, clipping the long stems close to 
earth, and returning handed some to each. 

“There is no flower in the mountains more beauti- 
ful,” said Rose as she pinned them cn the visitors, 
who could not find language rich enough in apprecia- 
tion and praise. And they were sincere for they were 
weary of hot-house products. 

“We’ll hev tuh take the back trail now,” Ben sug- 
gested presently. “We’ll jest make the seven miles tuh 
town b’sundown.” 

Lorimer, as they left, carelessly dropped the speci- 
men rock he had picked up into his coat pocket. 


104 


CHAPTER XII 


QUICK SHOOTING 

Regaining the road they loped swiftly along the 
gradual descent, emerging a half hour later from the 
timber and were soon winding their way among the 
foothills a mile from town, Lorimer and Rose rode 
somewhat in advance. Once or twice Ben had re- 
garded his companion to see how she stood the rapid 
riding, and her horse to ascertain if her saddle was 
holding securely. A cinch has a habit of working 
loose. 

Sibyl rode easily and well and with a lithe grace 
characteristic of tall people who always appear to ad- 
vantage on a horse. For the second time since he 
had known her she had a touch of color in her cheeks, 
making that striking transformation in her from color- 
less, negative perfection to vital, pulsing beauty. Her 
eyes met his brilliantly. Her smile was dazzling. She 
certainly seemed to thrive and beautify on the West 
and its activities. 

U 1 have enjoyed myself greatly. I cannot tell you 
how much, Mr. Warman,” said Sibyl in her low, vi- 
brant voice as they swept along, stirrup to stirrup, 
knee to knee where the road contracted. “I hope for 
many more such trips. Next time we will go farther. 
I have not tired at all. I told you I would soon be- 
come an Amazon in this air.” 

With her slender, undulating form she was far from 
being an Amazon but she was displaying a surprising 
vitality — a virility and endurance most unexpected. 

“Oh, we’ll westerize y’u in double-quick time,” he 

105 


15 tn ftOarman 


laughingly rejoined. “Y’u’re a quick scholar — and 

game. I like y’ur nerve ” He stopped short and 

both laughed aloud as the double entendre of his last 
phrase struck them. 

“And I like that ! Nerve ! When did I ever exhibit 
any cheek, I’d like to know?” 

“Well, y’u know I didn’t mean it thataway; but so 
fur uz thet’s concerned, y’u’re exhibitin’ a pair now 
’ith mighty good color in ’em,” he retorted. “But y’u 
wuz game un’ showed nerve in the mine when thur 
wuz consider’ble promisc'us rock a floatin’ round, any 
uv ut bein’ ’nough tuh jar our thinkin’ machines ef 
they’d hit us. Y’u ain’t afeared uv a hoss, thet’s 
another mighty good sign t’me. Then y’u stand the 
gaff ; this hez ben a long ride fur y’u fur the first time, 
un’ y’u ain’t murmured. Y’u’re game, I say, un’ thet 
goes a long way ’ith me.” 

His ideas and compliments might have been ex- 
pressed with more elegance and taste but with her 
quick discernment she grasped the spirit of them. 
Sibyl well knew the effect upon her appearance of a 
little color in her cheeks and lips and she was not 
displeased that it was there now and that he had no- 
ticed it. 

“Oh, I shall be a regular cowboy soon,” she an- 
swered gaily, sweeping him with a sidelong, lambent 
glance with those eyes which more and more began 
to stir deeps he instinctively sought to keep quiescent. 
Their agitation meant the resurrection of tendencies 
that must be kept in abeyance or the reaction to his 
old self would be swift and sure. There was that in 
this woman at his side that had a diametrically op- 
posite effect upon him from that of Rose Graham. 
He did not stop to analyze but felt and knew its ex- 
istence. 

He was not yet far removed from his former state, 
the wildness had not been eradicated from his blood, 
106 


IBett barman 


recklessness still tingled along his nerves and the old 
impulses to meet a challenge, excitement and adventure 
were still dangerously near the surface. Sibyl Lori- 
mer, refined, cultured, product of the effete East, as 
she was, yet drew these impulses nearer the surface. 
Particularly since she had discarded much of her 
former self and taken on, by intangible changes, even 
a little of the liberty of the open and aroused her 
blood to activity by exercise in the pure, exhilarating 
air did this influence emanate from her personality. 

Currents of physical vitality and magnetism were 
arousing within her and recurring with more and more 
frequency. Associated with this was a growing in- 
difference for conventionalities. Instinctively she felt 
and knew the attraction she held for Ben Warman. 

It was as though the beginning of a reversion was 
taking place in her, an abandonment of one after the 
other of her former rather negative qualities and the 
acquisition of new and positive attributes. These were 
in the main good in themselves and she was not con- 
cerning herself with the possibility of their running 
to an extreme and acquiring a dominating hold upon 
her. 

“I shall want you to teach me to throw the lariat, 
tie a diamond hitch, pitch a tent, shoot ” 

She was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from 
the man at her side. Lifting her eyes a quick fear 
grew in them. Ben brought his horse to a standstill 
and leaped to the ground all in one seemingly simul- 
taneous movement. 

Gerald’s horse, hesitating before a small washout, 
had been viciously spurred by its impatient rider and 
the broncho strain responded instantly in a swift, 
bucking jump. What Sibyl saw was her brother’s 
horse moving up the slight incline to the left of the 
road, its rider, his foot caught in the stirrup, drag- 
ging at its side. 


TSett ffajarmatt 


“Keep back,” cried Ben sharply, as Rose skillfully 
headed her horse with the evident intention of trying 
to catch the excited animal of her companion. Gerald 
Lorimer was in imminent peril. Unless his shoe, the 
saddle cinch or stirrup gave way, or the horse was 
stopped instantly, he was doomed. Sibyl, fascinated, 
gazed with horror and for a moment of panic sus- 
pected Ben of cowardly or murderous inaction. Rose, 
obeying Ben’s call, stood still. A terrible cry of despair 
came from Lorimer’s lips as he realized his situation 
— that he might be literally dragged until unconscious- 
ness and death should come. His horse, growing ex- 
cited at the object trailing at his side, would run 
until it would be rid of it. 

Two reports rang out. At the first the moving 
animal lunged and fell in a heap. At the second his 
struggles ceased and he lay still. The spell was 
broken and they turned their eyes upon Ben. His 
left forearm was still extended from the hip, a gun 
glistened in the evening sun, smoke was floating from 
the barrel. The next instant he had replaced it and 
was calmly walking toward the fallen animal. 

Gerald Lorimer, pale as a corpse, shuddering and 
trembling, torn, dirty, bruised, but unhurt, stood up. 
Sibyl was now with him, breathing expressions of 
joy at his safety. He seemed unable to speak. His 
lips moved as if speaking thanks as he looked at Ben, 
but no sound issued from them. 

“Close call, Mr. Lorimer,” Ben spoke to relieve the 
tension. “Lucky I learned t’shoot ’ith muh left hand 
us well us the right. Un’ it’s double lucky I hed muh 
big gun ’ith me t’day: c’u’dn’t uh done ut ’ith muh 
little ’un.” 

Sibyl walked to the dead animal. For a moment 
she could see no wounds. Then she found them, as 
the blood began to flow, one back of the front shoul- 
der, the other just back of the ear. The first had 
108 


'IBett (K3arman 


stopped its flight, the second stilled its dangerous 
struggles. 

It was indeed marvelous gun work, quick, accurate, 
deadly. It required instant action, a keen eye, a nerve 
of steel and an amazing precision at a moment of ter- 
rific intensity. A light in her eyes revealing the nerv- 
ous tension, thankfulness and boundless admiration all 
at once, she gripped Ben’s hand with a force that 
surprised him and aifected him like a battery. 

“A few days ago you saved my life at the risk of 
your own. Now you have saved Gerald’s. I can say 
nothing more. The time may come, strange as it may 
now seem, when I can do for you what you have 
done for us. I shall not fail you.” She little dreamed 
under what circumstances and from whom and for 
whom she would save him and at what a sacrifice. 

“Thet’s all right,” smiled Ben reassuringly. “Yu’re 
a little excited now. No wonder. Jest calm down. 
It’s all over. Don’t lay too much importance on me 
in this thing. I happened t’know the only thing t’do. 

I cun shoot. I hed muh gun. I shot un’ the trick 
wuz turned. Nuthin’ complicated, simple us writin’ 
y’ur name ’ith a flourish. She’s a whole lot easier 
’un tyin’ a tie proper and c’rect.” 

“Yes,” shuddered Sibyl, “and what would have oc- 
curred if any one of all these things had not happened 
just so?” 

But Ben had turned abruptly and with his one 
sound arm lifted Gerald, who was now attempting 
to huskily voice his obligation, almost bodily from j 
the ground onto his own horse. Sibyl’s eyes widened 
as she saw the perfect ease with which Ben accom- 
plished this far from easy task. Ben then took the 
saddle from the dead animal, strapped it on his own, 
behind Lorimer, then led the way afoot into Diorite. 


109 


CHAPTER XIII 


A PARTNERSHIP IN EARNEST 

The Professor was speaking: 

“ ‘Es ist kein Bergwerk nie so gut 
Es hat denn einen eisern hut.’ 


he quoted. 

'‘Come again, Prof., un’ come in United States/ 
said Ben quizzically. 

The Professor responded: 

“ ‘There is no mine so good as that 
Which has thereon an iron hat/ 

or, 

‘There is no mine that is as good 
As that which has an iron hood/ 

You can take your choice. Both translations are free 
and both convey the idea with sufficient exactness. 

The art of translation ” 

Ben interrupted him with a gesture. The scholar 
paused a moment and then inquired: “This is the 
third time you have spoken about this in the last 
week, young man. You should have it by heart by 
this time. Why this persistence?” 

Ben slowly drew from his pocket a piece of yellow 
iron and extended it toward the Professor, who blinked 
once or twice and then pounced upon the object with 
a sudden spasm of energy. 

no 


i 


15en GBarman 


“Yellow hematite! More correctly speaking, limo- 
nite! In other words, gossan, pure gossan! Where 
did you get this ? How far from here ? How much is 
there of it? Did you locate it ” 

“Hold on, Prof.” Ben threw up his hand as if in 
protection against an onslaught, meanwhile throwing a 
laughing glance at Rose, whose face showed sup- 
pressed excitement and who laughed eagerly in re- 
turn. “Indian file, Prof., come one at a time, can’t 
yuh? But I’ll try t’answer thet bunch us she wuz 
slung, 'serious atom,’ uz the boys say in French. I 
gets ut northwest uv this throbbin’ center o’ commerce, 
half way to the top o’ the range. I finds ut all b’muh 
lonesome ’ith my own eagle eye un’ muh own lily 
white hooks, 'then un’ there bein’,’ us the law sharps 
say; un’ about six miles from here us Mr. Crow 
wings ut. She’s thirty feet wide un’ about two hun- 
derd feet long on the surface un’ goes ten feet deep 
thet I knows uv fur I dug thet fur in ut. Don’t know 
how much further down toward Ching Ching land, 
but w’u’d guess ut at about three miles, which ought 
tuh be in the neighborhood o’ seventeen million tons 
fur how much. Did I locate ut? No ” 

“What’s that ?” almost shrieked the little man in his 
shrill voice. “You didn’t? This is awful,” he moaned, 
wringing his hands in despair. 

“No,” continued Ben, winking at Rose almost im- 
perceptibly and grinning his full set of white teeth into 
view, “I didn’t locate it — but you un’ Miss Rose un’ 
I did.” 

The Professor sank back in his chair nervously fan- 
ning himself in his relief. 

“Samewise we located two more, one on each end 
o’ this ’un.” Ben tapped the piece of iron. “They’re 
christened already; Columbines Nos. i, 2, and 3. 
At them christenin’s ol’ nature wuz the Priestuss, I 
wuz the Daddy and Mama un’ stood on the babies 
hi 


15en ©Barman 


un’ a lot o’ bully ol* pine trees wuz the witnesses. 
The oh Girl used pure rainwater un’ seein’ ut wuz 
me wuz plumb gen’rous ; used suh much uv ut, feelin’ 
enthusiastic thataway, she soaked us all good un’ 
plenty ; came purty near bein’ what y’u call ut — eemur- 
sion. We’uns not bein’ Baptis’s a sprinklin’ w’u’d’ve 
ben a plumb plenty.” 

By this time the Professor had recovered. 

“Mr. Warman, you do not realize how much you are 
giving away. You are under no obligations to put 
Rose and myself in with you as locators. We have 
very little money and the property will have to be 
developed.” 

“No, I don’t know what I’m givin’ away but I hope 
tit’s a million uh piece fur yuh. So fur uz hevin’ 
money to develop the prospect with yuh hain’t — 
havn’t none the best uv ut over me there,” chuckled 
Ben. “We all git an even breakaway on that. The 
fact is Rose un’ me — I had quite a little gabfest th’ 
other day ’bout doin’ things; minin’, railroadin’, ir- 
rigatin’, town buildin’ un’ some more uh them triflin’ 
things uh thet hectic complexion un’ jest tuh git things 
started, so we c’u’d begin business, struck up a part- 
nership.” 

The Professor cast a quick and questioning glance 
at Rose, who bent over her sewing. She raised her 
head at the remark and returned her father’s look 
with just a little flush as she saw the inquiry in his 
eyes. 

Ben, with his vision on the distant hills, continued 
the weaving of his narrative. “We elected you presi- 
dent, — Miss Rose Secretary and Treasurer un’ Pm 
the gen’ral superintendent — the hired man — ’thout 
wages. It’s a fair shake all round, one-third int’rust 
each. We begin on the minin’ deal, later we extends 
operations.” 

The Professor had received a reassuring smile from 
II 2 


TBen JQatman 


Rose and considered the matter while Ben was con- 
cluding. “Uz fur uz any obligations to ring y’uens 
in on these here claims, I’m gettin’ a gen’rul education 
from these books un’ your help — un’ — un’ Miss Rose’s, 
un’ thet can’t be measured by any iron gossan, nur 
copper, money, marbles ur chalk. Y’ur int’rusts is 
more ’an paid fur to date un’ fur some time tuh come. 
Besides, I expaict to be un’ expert sharp on copper 

’fore long under y’ur teachin’. I know somethin’ 

’bout gold but uz fur copper ’bout uz much uz my 

Mesa hoss knows ’bout astronomy.” 

“Very well, Mr. Warman,” assented the old 
scholar. 

“Aw — call me Ben, Prof., un’ let ut go ut thet.” 

“All right, Ben,” the old, young little man complied, 
“we’ll accept your offer and try to do our share in 
opening up the property. We will go as far as we can 
with our limited means. As sure as we live there is 
copper and rich copper under that iron. But what I 
have no adequate means of determining is at what 
depth it lies. It may be fifty feet and it may be two 
or three hundred. We may be forced to sell a part 
interest in order to get capital to work it. The science 
of finance ” 

“Thur ain’t no outsiders goin’ to get in on this,” 
interrupted Ben, a hard note of determination ring- 
ing in his voice, “not until my muscles is — are worn 
out; un’ thur’ll be a mighty respectable heap o’ iron 
on thet dump afore thet time comes.” 

He stretched out and tensed an arm that displayed 
its knotted sinews through the thick shirt sleeves. 
“It may take a long time to reach the copper but we 
only have to do three hundred dollars’ worth o’ work 
each year to hold our title, un’ we can’t lose our claims 
under them — those conditions. We don’t have to buy 
them from the gover’ment until we want to so long 
uz we keep up the annual work. But uh course we 
H3 


T5m ffllarman 


want t’do a lot more’an thet ; we want tuh reach thet 
copper. Fur the present everything’s safe.” 

“What are your immediate plans ?” inquired the su- 
perintendent. 

“Want y’u t’go up ’ith me tuhmorrow after school’s 
out to geologize them walls, figger out the strike un’ 
pitch o’ the vein. Then we’ll decide where to put the 
shaft down. Ef I’m a judge o’ rock we got schist on 
the hangin’ wall and quartzite on the foot wall.” 

“That’s just as it should be,” rejoined the Profes- 
sor, satisfaction beaming in his countenance. “The 
time will come within twenty years when copper 
mines alone will pay more dividends than all the gold, 
silver and lead mines combined.” 

Rose glanced at Ben and he thought he detected a 
sigh upon her lips and a questioning in her eye as 
though she wondered if he felt the doubts that came 
to her at the Professor’s concluding statement. Ben 
also felt an impalpable something in her manner, a 
sadness as though she remembered innumerable day 
dreams of her father’s that had never materialized, and 
left them as far as ever from the ambition of both 
— to return to the East and resume a station in life 
commensurate with her father’s education and abilities. 
He had always failed ; not because he was always mis- 
taken in his plans and theories, for he was generally 
right, but because he lacked the initiative force and 
present energy necessary to attain practical conclu- 
sions and results. The hope of finishing her education 
in the East, which had been her desire for years, was 
as far from fulfillment now as ever. 

In their various conversations Ben had learned of 
the failures and shortcomings of the Professor and had 
surmised their hopes and desires. He felt that he 
could supply the motive power and that with the 
ideas of Rose’s father and his own energy and will 
success could be attained along some line. And it 
1 14 


TBen lOarman 


was largely this idea that had urged him to insist upon 
them joining their interests with his. He was con- 
scious of a sincere ambition to help them as well as 
of accomplishing something by and for himself. 

Ben had observed much during the short time he 
had known this old man and this young girl. He 
therefore understood Rose’s mood and the glance she 
had given him at the old visionary’s prophecies. He 
wished to encourage her. 

“Thet’s a big forecast, Prof. ; ut’s too big fur my 
gray matter t’follow through all the way but I’ve got 
a hunch y’u’re on the right trail. I don’t often ride 
a sunbeam but y’u cun cut me outo’ the herd ef I 
don’t think y’u’re plumb right. I believe in what 
y’u’re sayin’ un’ I’m a believin’ in you. Y’u’re fur- 
nishin’ the ideas but don’t furgit thet I’m a goin’ tuh 
furnish the hoss-power. Yu show me how tuh put 
the English on the cue ball un’ I’ll make the billiard. 
Put me on the track un’ I’ll win the race. She’s a 
goin’ tuh go; we’re goin’ tuh get results, un’ ut ain’t 
goin’ tuh be a bunch o’ years a cornin’ ! It may take 
a year un’ we may cut’er in four ur five months.” 

And Rose, remembering the fighting spirit of this 
man, his boldness, his energy, his indomitable courage, 
began to feel in her soul that something would come 
of this enterprise and that at last her father’s long 
studies, his technical knowledge attained at such sac- 
rifice, were to bear fruit ; and she — she would perfect 
herself, her longing for the finer things of life would 
be gratified, she would study diligently, she would 
master music, cultivate her voice and then — and then 
— somehow she was unable to conjecture her future in 
the East beyond this point. 

At this precise point in her daydreams she always 
came to a blank place; and following this the circle 
of her thoughts came back to the West — the West 
for which, with all its hardships and deprivations, she 
115 


15en iKHattnan 


held a deep and passionate love. Her reverie was 
broken by a fresh, strong, hearty voice, resonant with 
purpose and decision. Ben was speaking directly to 
her. 

“I must be leaving now, Rose, I want yuh to be- 
lieve thet we’re goin’ to succeed in this matter. I’ve 
somethin’ practical un’ — good to work muh energies 
on now un’ I’m eager fur the fight. We’ll win. We’ll 
win. Don’t furget thet fur a minute. We’ll win, all 
around.” 

She pressed his hand in response to convey her 
hope, assurance and sympathy, as much for him as 
for her father and herself. And again he felt, at that 
pressure, that inward sense of oneness and complete- 
ness. 

“I believe father is right. I believe that you will 
demonstrate it. I have faith in you,” she said simply, 
as her dark eyes looked steadily, with trust now rather 
than question, into the blue ones looking down into 
hers. 

“With a sendoff like thet, Rose,” he laughed light- 
heartedly, “I cun fight and whip a grizzly ’ith muh 
bare hands. Professor, be ready to go up t’the prop- 
erty at four tuhmorrow.” 

Rose watched his stalwart, graceful form as he 
strode quickly toward town and she thought — but 
who can probe the secret thoughts of a girl, yet in 
her ’teens, unformed, scarcely arrived at the dawn of 
womanhood ? 


ii 6 


CHAPTER XIV 


A PLOT IS LAID 

A group of men were seated at a poker table in 
Conley’s saloon. Conley himself, impassive as usual, 
was one. A second was a dark-featured, sharp-faced 
man of forty in a corduroy suit, a new man in town 
who had not disclosed his business. The third was a ■ 
well known gambler and hanger-on at the Palace, an 
old, young man, old in the ways of the world, wise in 
sharp dealing, cunning in small things, restless of 
eye, dextrous of hand — a tool of Conley’s, known 
as Shifty Sam. He affected refinement in dress and 
parted his black, sleek hair in the middle. When 
occasion demanded he wrote “Smith” as a final name. 

The fourth and last of the group was Gerald Lori- 
mer, his tie slightly awry, his collar somewhat soiled, 
his eyelids red-edged. 

“Curse the luck!” he exclaimed as he threw down 
a hand and Shifty Sam raked in the stakes. “That’s 
all this time, gentlemen, no more funds available just 
now, but more coming. I’ll get my revenge by and 
bye. Luck’s got to change sometime. I’ll get you 
yet,” he concluded with a forced, weak smile of at- 
tempted confidence. 

“Sure,” returned Conley. “Never saw the time yet 
when there didn’t come a change.” There was con- 
tempt in his eyes for the weak fool before him from 
whom he and Shifty Sam had taken nearly five hun-* 
dred dollars at that particular sitting. It was not the 
first time and would not be the last. The stranger in 
corduroy had neither lost nor won. He was in the 
1 17 


T5en ©Harman 


game for a little entertainment and was evidently ex- 
perienced. 

“Just about as much chance in poker,” said Lori- 
mer, “as in putting my money in mining stocks, a 
gold mine, or — a copper mine.” 

“Copper !” exclaimed Shifty Sam with a slight sneer, 
“you’ll have to leave this camp for your investment 
in copper. This is a gold camp.” 

Lorimer, wishing to appear informed and glad of 
an opportunity to refute anything advanced by Shifty 
Sam, rejoined sententiously : “Maybe you are right, 
maybe you are wrong. Maybe I know where 
there’s a copper lead not over seven miles from 
this town.” And he sought to look knowing and im- 
pressive. 

Conley, alert, regarded Lorimer attentively. He 
never was too busy or too prosperous to listen to a 
story of a new find. It was a matter of policy and 
practice with him to keep informed on all new de- 
velopments and discoveries in the camp. The stranger 
listened and said nothing. 

“Bah!” rejoined Shifty Sam, “this is a gold camp, 
I tell you. There ain’t any copper in fifty miles ; 
might be a small gash vein or surface deposit,” he 
added, cunning in his purpose, “but nothing worth 
while.” 

“I know where there’s a copper lead not over seven 
miles from this town, I tell you,” retorted Lorimer, 
stung by the implied contempt at his knowledge and 
experience. “Gentlemen, if gossan is a capping for 
copper, I’ve seen with my own eyes a ledge thirty 
feet wide and two hundred feet long on the surface, 
and,” reaching into his side pocket, “there’s a piece 
of the stuff.” He slammed on the table the specimen 
he had placed in his pocket the eventful day of his 
saving by Ben Warman. 

Shifty Sam sneered audibly. Conley leaned over 
118 


'IBett barman 


and examined it for a moment carelessly and leaned 
back again, as though his curiosity had been fully 
satisfied; but his eyes reverted to the specimen. The 
stranger picked it up and studied it. Taking a small 
magnifying glass from his pocket he scrutinized the 
sample for some little time. Without taking his eyes 
from the glass he asked in an indiiferent tone : “How 
much of this did you say there was?” 

Lorimer repeated his statement for the third time 
with some asperity in his tone. The stranger laid the 
specimen back on the table, closed his glass, slipped it 
back into his pocket and sat listlessly, twirling his 
thumbs. 

Conley’s black eyes glittered as he noticed a peculiar 
motion of the stranger’s hand which had been thrust 
into his pocket along with the glass. Lorimer took up 
the sample. Shifty Sam sauntered away, uninter- 
ested. 

“How’d you come to see that?” Conley inquired 
carelessly, after a moment, as though they might as 
well be talking of that as of any other subject. 

“Out riding with my sister and Rose Graham — and 
Warman. Say, that fellow Warman — I don’t like him 
— but he can certainly shoot.” Lorimer’s mind had 
left the matter of gossan and copper. It was a habit 
of his loosely constructed and fluctuating mental 
powers. Besides, Shifty Sam had gone and there was 
no incentive to pursue his petulant purpose. 

The deep, somber eyes of Conley, a compelling force 
under which he twisted and strained but eventually 
succumbed, seemed to demand whatever of knowledge 
he possessed. They dragged his thoughts to the sur- 
face, to the very expression of his face. He won- 
dered dully if that was why he lost so steadily at 
cards. 

He related the story, which the participants had 
agreed to suppress, having quietly settled for the horse 
119 


TBett (KUatman 


that was killed, beginning with the trip to the iron 
lead. When he told of the very recent location of the 
claims by Warman Conley’s eyes burned a little more 
deeply in their recesses. And when it developed that 
Professor Graham had instructed a search for this 
very iron capping and declared it meant copper below, 
Conley felt a deeper interest than ever. He never 
joined in the merriment and coarse repartee that 
usually followed the mention of the Professor’s cop- 
per prognostications. Conley had been at Butte, where 
silver mines were turning into copper mines of incal- 
culable value. Lorimer and the stranger left. Con- 
ley sat ruminating for an hour. And when Bart Con- 
ley ruminated for an hour action of significance 
usually followed. 

That evening he sat in his private room upstairs 
over the Palace. There was a knock and to his brief 
invitation to enter the stranger of the afternoon’s 
game appeared. Conley silently indicated a seat at the 
opposite side of the small, square table on which a 
decanter, glasses and a box of expensive cigars rested 
invitingly. 

“You got my message?” Conley gave it as a state- 
ment rather than as a question. 

“Yes.” 

“Your name is Travers, A. J. Travers,” the gam- 
bler continued in a matter of fact tone. 

The man in corduroy sat down and regarded Con- 
ley in silence for a moment. 

“Well?” 

“You’re here under the name of Colvert, W. S. 
Colvert.” 

“Well?” 

“You’re a mining engineer and are privately ex- 
amining the Blue Bell for millionaire Drake of Mon- 
tana.” 

The stranger chewed slowly, calmly regarding Con- 
120 


18 en ftOatmatt 


ley again as if trying to place him, and, apparently 
having arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, said : 

“Well?” 

“All this is none of my business,” continued the 
gambler king, evenly. 

“You’re right this time without a doubt,” rejoined 
his companion, “and on the outside you’ll call me Col- 
vert, not Travers. From what I now recall of you in 
the Butte days I don’t need to repeat that.” 

“You’re entirely correct on that point.” 

“Well?” 

“Did it show a trace of copper?” 

“Lorimer’s specimen, you mean? I gave that back 
to him.” 

“Yes. I also saw you break off a piece and slip it 
in your pocket along with your glass,” Conley re- 
sponded, sententiously. 

Colvert again chewed for some moments, regarding 
his questioner. 

“I see you’re on. There ain’t much that gets past 
you, is there?” 

“Did it show a trace of copper?” 

“Still got your nose on the trail, I see. I don’t mind 
acknowledging that I tested that piece of gossan, but 
just why I should give up the result to you is a little 
clouded as yet. Perhaps you can clear the atmos- 
phere.” 

“That’s fair. All I’ve got to say is that if it’s the 
real thing I — we can get it.” 

“We — that sounds better; but how long do I have 
any assurance it will remain — we — and not become — 1 
I — again ? I’ve been about the world a bit.” 

“I’m playin’ square. Friend or enemy will say that 
Bart Conley’s word is good. Besides, when we get 
into this we’ll have to stay in and stick together.” 

“I’m satisfied,” at last responded Colvert. “Now 
I’ll talk some. It showed a slight trace of copper, 
121 


13tn ftOarman 


slight, but enough. It would have been all right if had 
not, at the surface.” 

“She’s the real goods?” 

“No doubt about it.” 

“Then we take it.” 

“I’m willing. You’re the man I had picked out to 
get in on this — so, it’s mutual. How do — we take it ?” 

“In the first place there’s one more man in on this* 
under the surface.” 

The corduroy man’s eyes half closed. “To a man 
in my position that don’t look good. Who is he?” 

“He’s the mining recorder of this district — and he’s 
here now,” he concluded as a knock came at the door. 

As the recorder stepped in Colvert said quickly: 

“The recorder? I see. He’s in. But no more ” 

Conley nodded acquiescence. 

“Anderson, take a chair. Mr. — Colvert, Mr. An- 
derson, our district recorder.” 

The two men made brief acknowledgment. Ander- 
son was a large, fleshy man, his face giving indisputa- 
ble evidence, by its red-mottled complexion and pur- 
ple-tinged nose, of deep and constant drinking. His 
small, grape-pulp eyes matched his makeup. His 
glance shifted from Conley to Colvert and back to 
Conley, where it rested; rested on his master, his 
master as much as the slave owner was the master 
of his human chattel. 

“Anderson, we’ve done some profitable business to- 
gether.” 

“We have that, Bart ; can’t deny that.” 

“Never yet left an open trail, have we?” 

“Not a one, Cap.,” grinned the recorder broadly, ex- 
hibiting bad teeth. 

“We got the goods?” 

“Every time.” 

“You got my note this afternoon.” 

“Yes.” 


122 


TScti ©Harman 


“And burned it?” 

“Yes.” 

“So far, so good; how was it?” 

“It came in time. The location certificates had been 
brought in by Warman himself. Pete Simpson, my 
assistant, was there with me. I took the papers. Of 
course Simpson has seen the certificates in the box 
waiting to be recorded. But he now understands that 
no papers were left for record and no such certificates 
have ever been in the office.” 

“Will he stick?” 

“He’ll stick. He knows he’s got to stick or go over 
the road on that little matter of the forged check with 
you.” 

“Yes, I recall it,” mused Conley. “He was up 
against it, drunk, and under those conditions forgery 
came easy. Yes, he’ll go through. He knows I can 
send him over the road any time. IPs your word and 
Simpson’s against Warman’s. Outside of the Courts 
we don’t give a damn. I have an idea that before we 
get through with this thing Warman is liable to have 
an accident that may prevent his testifying in any 
court in any case.” 

Conley’s eyes gleamed with suppressed malignity. 
A little shiver ran over Anderson’s heavy frame. 
“Mind you, I said an accident,” continued Conley. 
“He’s hot-headed and a fighter and when bullets fly 
he is liable to get hit, and he can’t digest lead any 
better than the next man. We ain’t getting into the 
fighting business any time we can avoid it, but it 
looks as though, by and bye, there’d be a clash some- 
where aldng the line.” 

“We want the thing to work so smoothly that gun 
work will never be reached ; I’m opposed to it,” inter- 
jected Colvert, decisively. “Let’s use brains ; there 
are enough tricks of the trade to win without getting 
into coarse work like that. I’m against it, I say. If 
123 


15en ©Hannan 


you’ve got anything personal with Warman keep it 
that way ; don’t mix it in on this deal,” he concluded, 
turning to Conley. 

t “My work is always quiet, Colvert. You’ll find it 
so. I don’t bluster around on the surface. I work be- 
neath. Now, then, let’s get down to business.” 

The speaker turned down one finger. 

“He’s got sixty days from date of discovery to get 

• his certificates on record, or leave them with the re- 
corder at his office, which is the same thing in law. 
If he don’t and we make a location we’ve got the 
first right for sixty days thereafter to complete a loca- 
tion and hold the ground. We get our certificates on 
record within sixty days from the date of our discov- 
ery which can’t now be prior to the end of the sixty 
days to which he’s entitled to complete his locations. 
If we put notices up before his sixty days run out they 
would be invalid, and give us no rights unless his no- 
tices were fatally defective, and I suppose they’re all 

* right.” 

A second finger went down. 

“The office recording is so far behind that if he 
should happen to look his papers up before the six- 
tieth day, which will be the sixteenth of September, 
he’ll find them at the office all right, of course, if he 
asks for them. You’ll have them where you can pro- 
duce them. The chances are that he won’t inquire or 
examine the records to see if they are actually recorded 
on the books. And whether he does or not they won’t 
be on the books, you understand.” 

(, A third finger was turned over. 

“On the night of the sixtieth day, after midnight, 
the morning of September seventeenth, we put up our 
discovery notices, all prepared beforehand; we com- 
plete our work that night and morning and put our cer- 
tificates on record that same day, so as to have every- 
thing complete. If he should look up the record late, 
124 


15en (EQatman 


say on the fifty-ninth or sixtieth day, and finds them 
not recorded, which they won’t be, even if Anderson 
denies their receipt, he could have new ones made out 
and get them in on time. If it’s the very last hour 
Anderson can deny ever having received them and 
that will cut him out. He won’t have time to get new 
ones fixed up.” 

The fourth finger disappeared. 

“There is nothing to arouse his suspicion. We don’t 
make a sign until the sixtieth day after, or at, mid- 
night. He sees our discovery ten foot holes on the 
sixty-first day, then he’s too late. He finds his loca- 
tion certificates ain’t on record. He roars. Then you 
come in, backed by Simpson. Warman never left any 
certificates in the office. He’s failed to complete his 
location in sixty days from the date of his notices. 
Our right has been initiated. He’s out. We win. Am 
I right, gentlemen?” concluded Conley, closing his 
massive thumb over the closed fingers and bringing his 
clenched fist down on the table. 

The engineer had listened closely and now nodded 
affirmatively. 

The recorder answered : “There ain’t a flaw. I’ve 
got to stand the brunt of it, but I’m a counting strong 
on it never getting into Court, at least to trial. We’ll 
have him dead to rights. It’s a cinch.” 

Colvert spoke up. “We’ll have to get a survey of 
our claims made between now and the sixteenth of 
September so that the location certificates will show 
a tie to a government survey corner and give the dis- 
tance and direction of our lines. We’ll fix things so 
that Warman and his whole outfit will be in town that 
night, or at least away from the claims. By the way,” 
he concluded, sharply, “whose names go on as loca- 
tors?” 

“Yours and mine,” replied Conley. “Anderson’s 
mustn’t appear. He’s a silent partner.” 

125 


T5tn Wiatmm 


Anderson grinned cunningly in response; yet he 
knew that it depended on the future mood of Conley 
whether he was really ever in or not. He would be 
in of course, as Conley had said so, but it might be 
for a small cash consideration. To all intents and 
purposes his interest would be Conley’s, until that dic- 
tator would deign to inform him as to his real position 
in the matter. As far as Colvert was concerned, An- 
derson had a third interest in the scheme. This meant 
control by Conley. Conley studied a while. 

“That’s all, Anderson. Better get back to the office 
now — and keep those certificates under lock and key. 
Also your tongue. Let the whiskey alone. Attend to 
Simpson. So long.” 

As the door closed he resumed : “Colvert, I’ll have 
to get used to that name, you’ll be here for at least 
sixty days. You can’t finish that sneak investigation 
of yours on the Blue Bell in less time than that. You’ll 
be here September sixteenth. You’re the man to go 
over the ground in advance to make a preliminary sur- 
vey and to put up the stakes and haye the discovery 
holes dug that night, or rather morning.” 

“Yes. That’s my business. Before that date I can 
go over the ground some day when they’re absent. 
I’ll measure off the ground so that I can swear to it if 
necessary. Meanwhile I’m going up tomorrow morn- 
ing and examine the vein and see for myself just how 
big a thing it is. I can’t miss it. Got the general 
directions from Lorimer. He’s easy to handle. He 
didn’t know what the formation was and I wouldn’t 
take his word for it, anyway ; his, or any other man’s.” 

“I’ll go with you,” suddenly offered Conley, “as I 
happen to know that Warman is not going up until 
about four o’clock in the afternoon. I’m keeping close 
tab on him. He’ll be busy until that time getting tents, 
grub and tools together. We’ll be back by noon. He 
don’t even need to know we’ve been there. Better not 
126 


“Ben (KHatman 


run the chances of arousing his suspicions. The thing 
is to keep him from looking up the recording matter. 
Now it’s all set and we understand the game.” 

They arose to depart. Just as Colvert was about to 
open the door Conley added in a low tone : “Colvert, 
when you put up that location notice, or notices on the 
night of the sixteenth be right sure you don’t have 
a lapse of memory and forget to put my name, or some 
name I say in my place, on the notices with yours. It’s 
a bad thing to have lapses of memory. They some- 
times bring painful results. It might be serious.” 

Colvert smiled. “My desire to continue existence 
on this very interesting old planet is too great to take 
any chances on leaving it yet awhile.” 


127 


CHAPTER XV 


STARTING THE SHAFT 

Dan Drillard was a typical prospector of forty-eight 
years. Hardship and hard work made him appear old, 
especially as his iron-gray hair was bushy and ragged 
and his beard stubby and mis-shapen by trimming with 
full shears. There was nothing aged or decrepit about 
his frame or sinews for, though rather small, he was 
as hard as the steel he had beaten with single and 
doublejack for years. 

Dan loved speech — his own speech mostly — not- 
withstanding he was not educated. He loved to give 
the impression of learning. This led him to the use 
of many words picked up in his desultory reading or 
heard at random. Language was not an exact science 
with “Danny,” as he was familiarly called, and it trou- 
bled not his enthusiastic soul that he frequently used 
the wrong word, abandoned a syllable or two or in- 
serted additional ones ; or, when the exigencies of the 
case demanded, bodily invented new words. 

But Dan was a keen judge of human nature, was 
fairly loaded with mining lore, full of life as a colt 
and as honest and true as the metals he worked with. 
Dan had strong likes and dislikes. Ben Warman was 
one of his strong likes. They had met at the Blue 
Bell. It was just a little sympathy and care from Ben 
when Dan had been laid up a few days helpless with 
rheumatism. But that was enough. The old man had 
formed one of those quick attachments for the light- 
hearted, curly-haired young miner. Had Danny’s son 
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T5en ©Harman 


lived, in the long ago, he would have been Ben's age. 
Ben reciprocated the old miner’s feelings. 

It was not to be wondered at then that Ben, need- 
ing someone to work with him on the claims, hunted 
up Dan Drillard and that Danny accepted with alacrity 
Ben's invitation. 

“Why, son," said Dan, slapping Ben on the shoul- 
der an excessively vigorous love tap, “I’d sooner go* 
'ith yu than go un' d’yvell in the tents o’ the sheep- 
herders," he chuckled. 

It was a busy day of preparation. They needed a 
tent, until they could erect a log cabin. They must 
have supplies of all descriptions : powder, fuse, black- 
smith coal, picks, shovels, drill steel, ropes, bellows, 
anvil, single and double jacks, canned goods of various 
hues, brands and sizes; beans and bacon and a quar- 
ter of beef; and, according to Dan, “innumberable 
things to be et." 

Shortly after noon Ben started Dan up with a good, 
stout team, the strong wagon heavily loaded, the con- 
tents covered with a tarp for protection against sun, 
dust and rain. Dan Drillard was a proud man as he 
climbed into his seat, expectorated a stream of tobacco 
juice at a stray dog and grunted: “Gidduh!" at his 
team. 

“The Professor and yours truly’ll git up there about 
five-thirty o’clock," announced Ben to Dan. 

“An’ I’ll git tuh the ternimal," rejoined Dan, look- 
ing scrutinizingly at a huge, German-silver timepiece 
of ancient workmanship, then cocking one eye at the 
sun, “immejutly prior t’ ’bout three p. x. — ef I don’t 
hev no catastrop." 

“Don’t let anybody steal the claims before I git 
there," jocularly called Ben for a final word as the 
wagon started. Dan’s arm waved back: “The old 
man’s ontuh his job; don’t worry." 

Dan exchanged smiles with a sharp-featured man 
129 


15en 22Jarman 


in a corduroy suit who stood on the sidewalk care- 
lessly watching the outfit get under way — up the road 
he had just come down. 

Ben secured a safe horse for the Professor to ride 
and appeared at the Graham house promptly at four 
o’clock. As they rode away Rose waved them an en- 
couraging goodbye. 

“Ben,” said the schoolmaster, “my ideas on this iron 
lead did not need any confirmation but I assayed that 
sample you brought down and it shows a trace of 
copper.” 

“Still looks good t’ yuh after sleepin’ over ut?” 

“I’m surer than ever. It cannot fail. The deposi- 
tion of copper ” 

For once the old visionary was not interrupted and 
he was still in the midst of his dissertation, not a word 
of which escaped his hearer, and expatiating shrilly, 
when, following Ben’s blazed-tree trail, they arrived 
on the scene of action. 

They were met by a cheery salute from Dan, who 
had erected the tent at the bottom of the slope some 
three hundred feet from the lead, beside a small 
stream, and was unloading the last of the supplies. 

“Hosses wuz suh tired time they got here thet they 
wuz kickin’ thur front feet along ’ith thur hind ones,” 
Dan informed them. 

The scientist, his face gleaming with enthusiasm, 
and with hammer, glass, tape and a small substitute 
for a surveying instrument in constant use, almost 
ran from one portion of the lead to another, exam- 
ined the walls and filled a small bag with specimens 
of the iron and wall-rock, and flitted from place to 
place with amazing quickness for one of his years and 
feeble frame. With his big glasses and his split coat- 
tails flying he looked, said Dan, “like some auger-eyed, 
pre-hysteric bird, uh lightin’ un’ a peckin’, risin’, light- 
in’ un’ a peckin’.” 


130 


'Ben batman 


But Dan’s amusement, as the little learned man 
stood for a moment triumphant on the middle of the 
big yellow lead, “a bantam rooster flappin’ his wings 
o’ knowledge un’ crowin’ uh vict’ry,” turned to amazed 
reverence as he listened. 

“Pre-cambrian period, quartzite and slate forma- 
tion, contact vein ; schist hanging-wall ; quartzite foot- 
wall; occasional intrusive gabbros, commonly known 
as diorites, original copper rock; intercalation of igne- 
ous rock ; strike nearly east and west, dip south vary- 
ing from ten to fifteen degrees.” 

“Hurrah!” suddenly yelled Dan, disconcerting the 
technical expounder for a moment, but who smiled in- 
dulgently *at Dan’s enthusiasm for the coming mine, 
not knowing that the old prospector’s sudden ebulli- 
tion was entirely due to his admiration for the little 
Professor’s knowledge and especially his flow of big 
words. 

“What now concerns us most,” he concluded, “is the 
extent of the leached zone of iron before we reach the 
redeposit of copper below. Judging from the forma- 
tion of the country, the altitude, the depth of the 
gulches where the streams flow, and other indications, 
I shall hazard the opinion that we will find the cop- 
per at a depth of two hundred and fifty feet.” 

“Whew !” exploded Dan. His admiration had 
mounted to. unutterable heights. “Say, Professor, I 
don’t suppose y’u got the time t’ say thet all over again 
fur me ; thur’s a word ur two I didn’t git. I shore 
wou’d like tuh hear ut again. But mebbe sometime 
y’u c’u’d write ut out fur me. She’s certain a raaza- 
malooloo !” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” laughed the schoolmaster merrily. “I 
must look up that word. The derivation of words — ” 

Ben had been grinning in silent enjoyment. Then, 
his thoughts returning to the practical, suggested: 
“There’s only one point un’ then we cun get to work ; 
I3i 


15tt\ MJarman 


that is, where tuh sink the shaft. My guess is on the 
hangin’ wall side and half way from the center, on the 
length, to the east lower end/’ 

“And you are exactly right, my boy ; exactly right,” 
replied the scholar. They walked to the point and the 
Professor set a stake to indicate the center of the pro- 
posed shaft, saying as he did so : “Twohundred and 
fifty feet below this stake, if I am correct, we will 
pass ‘ A posse ad esse — From possibility to reality/ ” 

“Don’t ut beat all how easy he does ut ?” murmured 
Dan, impersonally to the atmosphere at large. “He’s 
shore plumb over-shot intellectool !” 

As he straightened up from the stake Ben picked 
up a small, leather card case and extended it to the 
Professor. 

“It is not mine. I did not drop it,” the little man 
replied to the implied statement. 

“What the devil!” exclaimed Ben. “This don’t be- 
long t’ any prospector ur woodhauler ur tie-hack.” 
He looked sternly at Dan. 

“Not guilty,” returned that worthy. “Y’u can’t 
fasten that ’ere thing ontuh me. I don’t deny I’ve ben 
t’ the cities a few times un’ got some uv thur ways — 
habits uh high saciety — but thur’s a limit.” 

Ben opened the case and drew out several cards 
bearing the same name. “A. J. Travers. Know him?” 

Receiving a negative shake of the head from both 
his companions, he put the cards back and slipped the 
case into his pocket. 

“I’ve heard uv fellers what left their card with their 
name on when they went a visitin’, but I don’t savvy 
leavin’ a whole case; leastwhile up on this iron lead. 
Whoever he wuz he didn’t intend to either. I don’t 
like the looks uv ut. Y’u stay here, Danny, and 
straighten things out tuhnight un’ tuhmorrow. The 
Professor un’ me’ll take the team un’ wagon back, 
leadin’ our ridin’ hosses. We got un hour uh daylight 
132 


'Bert (DQatman 


un’ cun get back tuh town afore dark. I’ll be back 
the day after tuhmorrow. Got a few matters t’ ar- 
range in town.” 

As they drove away they heard the voice of Danny 
raised raucously in song : 

“As I was goin’ down the road 
With a tired team and a heavy load, 

I cracked my whip and the leaders sprung, 

The fifth chain broke and the wheelers hung 
And the off horse stepped on the wagon tongue.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A FACTOR FROM THE PAST 

While the Professor and Ben journeyed homeward, 
discussing the great prospect, Conley and Colvert were 
seated in the private room above the Palace. 

“Got everything dead to rights?” Conley inquired 
bruskly. 

“The only possible fluke will be if he gets onto the 
state of affairs at the recorder’s office and files new 
certificates,” Colvert responded. 

“Yes,” rejoined the ex-prize-fighter, “the play now 
is for everybody to lay low and not arouse the least 
suspicion ; it might be well for us not to be too fa- 
miliar with each other in public. Any time we 'want 
a confab we can have it private up here. Just give 
me the tip.” 

Colvert looked around the room with considerable 
interest. On the walls of a side room were appli- 
ances of all kinds found in a pugilistic training quar- 
ters, including the indispensable gloves and punching 
bag. The rooms were furnished luxuriously. Conley 
lived well. 

“You still keep in trim, I see. When you were 
known as Jim Race I saw you fight at Butte. When 
you nailed me it took a little studying, as you had 
grown a little fleshy ; but I finally placed you.” 

“Yes,” said Conley, nodding acquiescence, “the busi- 
ness is a little confining. I don’t get out much. 
Though I’ve gained some in weight I keep hard. Oc- 
casionally I have to mix it with rowdies and bad men. 
I never use a gun unless it’s a case of extreme neces- 

134 


TBen ©Batman 


sity. I generally can reach them apd when I do it 
most always gets them/’ Conley smiled sardonically. 
“The fight you saw me in at Butte was my last/’ he 
continued reminiscently. “It brought me in a pretty 
good pile. I bought this place and settled down. This 
man Warman,” the gambler king came abruptly back 
to the present, “is a gun-fighter, I’m told, but makes 
some pretensions at the boxing game — had some train- 
ing somewhere. If I ever meet him I want it to be 
man to man and no gun work. If he gets away alive it 
will be my fault.” 

“Good way to dispose of him, Bart, now that you 
speak of it the idea strikes me forcibly and favorably. 
No noise about it. It’s safe. No prosecution. A 
thing like that in the ring, or in a square fight, ring 
or no ring, is always an accident. Just the ticket I 
should say.” 

“I don’t know just why I hate him, but I do; more 
than any living man. He’s done me no particular 
harm, though he’s crossed me several times and,” he 
smiled coldly, “he’s taken away some of my good 
money. They don’t many of them do that. He’s an 
old hand at the cards, got an eye that can locate the 
least false move, has the nerve to take a chance and — 
is damned lucky.” 

“We’ll see if his luck can save the Columbines for 
him. By the way, what shall we name our claims ?” 

“Don’t make much difference. Got any sugges- 
tions ?” 

Colvert’s face relaxed in a grin. “Yes. The idea is 
a little humorous. Let’s name them the Records One, 
Two and Three.” 

“Good enough,” said Conley, with a sardonic laugh. 
“One more matter. Which of your — names do you 
use on the notice and certificates ?” 

“Travers,” Colvert replied quickly. “I want my real 
name on that property. Incidentally I can still con- 

135 


T5zn (KBarman 


tinue to circulate here as Colvert, before and after the 
sixteenth. I need not be known as your co-locator at 
all. Fact is I might be able to get in with the other 
side and gather a little useful information from time 
to time. You know they might need a mining engineer. 
Well, so long.” 

Another grim smile relieved Conley’s face for an 
instant. 

Colvert had been gone some fifteen minutes when 
Conley glanced at his watch with something of rest- 
lessness. At the same instant the door opened after a 
slight preparatory knock and a young woman entered. 
She might have been twenty-five, no more; she was 
beautiful, with a bold, luxurious beauty ; her eyes and 
hair intensely black, her complexion good, her figure 
splendidly molded, her attire rich and tasteful. 

“Me Lord Conley has sent his messenger. What is 
wanted of his subject, Trixie Howard?” she asked, fa- 
cetiously, making graceful obeisance and smiling mock- 
ingly. 

Conley eyed her with unreserved admiration in his 
glance. This was the only woman who ventured to 
treat him so lightly and daringly; she alone mocked 
him familiarly; the only woman who had won her 
way through his hard exterior to the place occupied 
by his heart — if he had a heart. He indicated a seat 
with a motion of his thumb. “Take a chair, Trixie, 
I want to talk with you.” 

With a sweeping, laughing curtsy, she sank into a 
comfortable rocker, extracted a jeweled case from a 
handbag attached to her belt by a heavy silver chain, 
picked out a cigarette and lighted it daintily, while 
Conley’s eyes gleamed his admiration at the grace and 
tone with which it was accomplished. 

Trixie Howard had but recently taken up her abode 
in Diorite. She was frankly an adventuress, yet one 
of superior qualities; lived well, took care of herself, 
136 


“Beit batman 


occupied her own apartments, selected her associates, 
played a first-class poker game and had been an ex- 
pert faro dealer and lookout in some of the richest 
gambling resorts in the West. She had risen until her 
means were quite sufficient to maintain her in mod- 
erate luxury. 

‘‘Trixie, you’re a handsome she-devil.” 

“Thank you, Bart. But that isn’t what you wanted 
to talk to me about.” 

“It’s been five years since I first saw you at Dead- 
wood,” he continued impassively, as if she had not 
interrupted. “You were very young then.” 

“Oh, don’t recall the flight of time. It makes me 
feel old. It isn’t polite, Bart,” she smiled, her white 
teeth gleaming. 

“You’ll never grow old.” 

“That’s better. Thanks again, kind sir,” she re- 
joined, blowing a dainty ringlet of smoke from her 
pursed, red lips. 

“You’ve evaded me a long time, Trixie. I was 
afraid you wouldn’t come when I asked you to make it 
Diorite ; but — you came.” 

“Well, you see, I’m financially independent now, 
moderately so.” 

“You’ve done well the last few years?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ve always admired you, though I’m ten years 
older. I’m ready to settle down. I’m worth consid- 
erable money. You’re the only woman I ever thought 
of hitchin’ up with — makin’ a full partner. Trixie, I’m 
going to marry you some day — not very far away ; not 
yet, but by and bye. I want to make one more good 
stake first. I’ve got it in sight.” 

“You’ve known for some time, Bart, that when you 
were ready to marry me I’d come. You suit me and 
are able to keep me in style. I’m tired of the old life. 
I thought that was what you meant when you sent for 
137 


15 en ffiHarmatt 


me. You know that’s the only way I’ll ever come to 
you. However, I’m in no hurry. But in the meantime, 
I’m independent. We’ll each live in our own way 
separately.” 

“You thought right. I sent for you because I’m 
nearly ready. It won’t be a great while. Well, since 
you won’t take the apartments I furnished for you, let 
me pay for the ones you’ve taken. You won’t be un- 
der any obligations. The public won’t know.” 

“No, Bart. I’m not posing as a saint, but I’m not 
going to lay myself open to talk. A woman like a pub- 
lic official must not accept financial favors. I pay my 
own way and I belong to myself — until we’re mar- 
ried.” 

“I love you, girl, and that means a good deal when 
Bart Conley says it. You know me. I never felt that 
way or talked this way to any other woman.” 

“I believe that, Bart.” 

“But, as I said, I want to make another stake. 
Then we’ll have enough together to leave all this, go 
where we please, have what we want and — be respect- 
able. And it’s about this stake that I want to talk to 
you. I don’t like throwin’ you into the game, but it 
seems necessary to make sure. I won’t go into all the 
details, but it’s a fight for a valuable copper property 
near here. In order to increase the chances of win- 
ning it is necessary to keep a line on one man who is 
likely to know what is going on on the other side — 
Gerald Lorimer; and, second, to keep a certain other 
man in town when the time comes for an afternoon 
and evening — until late; you can do it.” 

“An old game. It ought to be easy,” Trixie re- 
marked carelessly. “Who is this Lorimer person?” 

“A young, rotten sprig from the East who has 
money; a weak fool, an artist. The second — ought to 
be still easier for you — er — you’ve known him before.” 

Trixie raised her dark eyebrows questioningly. 

138 


15tn ftOarntan 


"‘His name’s Warman.” 

'‘Don’t know him.” 

. “Not by that name,” Conley replied with slow inten- 
sity, his deep eyes resting on her face unwaveringly. 
“You knew him in Deadwood five years ago — as 
George Randall.” 

“George Randall!” Trixie repeated the name with 
evident, almost startling, interest. Then, controlling 
herself, “Sure, I know him.” 

“Yes, you know him. I wasn’t much interested in 
you then or I would have known him there. I’ve re- 
cently traced his history. I wanted to know. I 
learned,” and the deep, black eyes burned into hers, 
“that there was considerable of an attachment between 
you and him; which, I might add, caused my hatred 
for him to sink in deeper. But — I’m banking on you 
now and I’ll expect you to work with me. I want you 
to prove to me, incidentally, that you don’t care for 
him by promising me that you’ll be with me in this 
fight and do as I ask you. Keep him in tow on the 
sixteenth of September until midnight ; get him drunk 
if you can; and if you can’t, dope him.” He leaned 
forward and spoke with deep intensity. “I want you 
to promise me that you’ll do that — and be loyal to me.” 

He sought to read her inmost thoughts as he looked 
long and deeply into her eyes, but those brilliant black 
orbs baffled him. As he spoke his last words Trixie 
knew at last that she held this masterful man in the 
grip of her small, jeweled hand; that at almost any 
time she could attain her ambition to be his wife. 

With this fresh sense of power she was better able 
to conceal her feelings at the thought of George Ran- 
dall’s name. That individual had gone out of her life 
several years before and it was only after he had gone 
that she realized fully the strength of those silken 
cords that had bound them together for a time. The 
memory of those days came back with a rush. Of all 

139 


T5en <H3arman 


men, this was the man she was asked to betray and 
she was asked to do so because she, by those very 
ties of old, it was calculated, was able to lure his atten- 
tion and thought. All this flashed through her mind 
in an instant. Before she had time to speak, Conley, 
to insure her consent, added: 

“It may be that you can’t do it. Randall, or rather 
Warman, is in love with a young girl here, the daugh- 
ter of Professor Graham. Warman’s reformed, or 
thinks he has, or will, and she’s the cause of it. She’s 
an attractive girl — and good,” he concluded signifi- 
cantly. “He’s probably out of your reach.” 

There sprang into the flashing black eyes of the 
woman before him, stung to the quick, a glitter that 
changed her completely. Whatever it was, hate, love, 
jealousy, pride, it transformed her into a beautiful ani- 
mal hungering for prey. Her cheeks flamed and her 
black eyes burned as she strode up and down the room. 
He had played upon her to touch one of these emo- 
tions. He did not know which one he had electrified, 
but he had succeeded. She knew that he had said what 
he had for that very purpose, but she also knew that 
he had not lied to her; that he spoke facts, and she 
cared not. The facts bit deeply. She turned suddenly 
upon him. 

“You know that my answer is, yes! I’ll show you 
that he is not out of my reach. Reformed, has he? 
In love with a goody-goody girl ! Now that you speak 
of her I remember hearing something about Ran- 
dall’s or Warman’s fight with Trent over her name in 
your place. Strange that I haven’t happened to see 
him around in the time I’ve been here.” 

“He’s been putting in a good deal of his time at the 
Professor’s house, when he is off work, evenings. The 
old man and the girl are interested with him in these 
copper claims we’re fighting for ; so, you’ll be fighting 
them, too. He’s studying or reciting over there nights, 
140 


15en EHatman 


educating himself with their help,” Conley sneered, 
“raising himself to her level. See ?” 

“I see. Getting out of my reach, is he? We’ll see. 
We’ll see. Say, Bart,” she turned and looked at him 
curiously, with a gleam of admiration in her eyes, 
“you’re certainly game ; you’ve got nerve, you have, 
throwing me up against him in this game! You’re 
staking a good deal on this throw of the dice, if you 
care for me, and are doing it without a quiver. You 
never were small or weak or a coward. I can’t help 
appreciating you trusting me this way. It’s a master 
stroke and a daring one. That’s where you attract me. 
Aren’t you really afraid you are taking chances — on 
me ? Knowing the past as you do ?” 

“No, by God, I’m not,” was the savage response. 
His face flushed and his jaw set. “You were a girl 
then ; you’re a woman now. And, besides, you’re look- 
ing out for the future.” 

Trixie swept toward the door still afire with her 
aroused spirit and the game, flashing back a reassuring 
smile. “Bart, if I was you, I wouldn’t worry any.” 

Conley relaxed into his chair as the door closed. He 
had put a great deal to the test, a great deal more than 
he had cared to admit to her or even to himself — and 
had won. 


CHAPTER XVII 


DAN DRILLARD ENTERTAINS 

All the next day Ben quietly searched for a clue to 
the identity of “A. J. Travers.” He would have dis- 
missed the matter of the card case with his usual 
recklessness, always depending on himself to fight his 
way through at a critical moment, but now the respon- 
sibility of the interests of the Professor and Rose made 
him cautious. Unsuccessful, he confided to Dick 
Grant the reasons for his search and its object. 

“Pm goin’ up tuh work in the mornin’, Dick, and ef 
y’u cun keep ut in mind jest remember the name. 
Here, take one of these cards., Y’u might stumble 
onto a clue.” 

“Sure, Ben. Say, what’s the matter with my going 
up with you in the morning and taking a look at the 
property That’s news of interest to the camp and is 
bound to be generally known pretty soon. Why can’t 
I write it up for the Herald?” 

“I don’t see nuthin’ wrong ’ith thet,” assented Ben. 
“Come up. It’s only two hours’ ride up and an hour 
down. When y’u come back y’u cun get the general 
stuff from the Prof., he’s loaded with ut. We want 
t’ be on the road by sun-up.” 

Delicate dawn was trembling in the East as the two 
friends rode slowly out of town. To the west the 
snow-battlements were shrouded in a mystery of cloud. 
The air was cool wine. Ben Warman was buoyant 
with hope and high spirits. The world looked fair to 
him. As they gradually mounted to higher ground 
they could not refrain from looking back across the 
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15 en Olatman 


plain and over the ridge of the Mammoth Spur. 
They saw gray change to pearl, pearl to silver, silver 
to rose and rose to gold. Gradually the East mellowed 
and yellowed until the edge of the emblazoning sun 
broke through the rim like the prow of a ship of gold 
crashing into our sphere. The shafts of the now tri- 
umphing sun, the heavens conquered, were first cast 
full at the snow-crested head of Vulcan to the west, 
dissipating the cloud and lighting wondrously his 
sphinx-like countenance. Next the range was bodily 
captured, then the foothills and finally the plains were 
subjugated by his glance and the visible world lay in 
adoration of the Sun God. 

Arriving at the camp after following the convolu- 
tions of the blazed trail, they found Dan putting things 
to rights at the tent. 

“Thought mebbe y’u c’u’dn’t find the camp agin,” 
was the old prospector’s greeting. “Don’t see how 
anybody c’u’d keep thet trail twice; ut’s suh crooked 
it’ud break a snake’s back tuh foller ut. Had break- 
fust?” 

“Not so we c’u’d feel ut,” was Ben’s grinning reply. 

“Then I’ll grab somethin’ un’ burn ut,” rejoined 
Dan, which was his delicate manner of announcing 
that he would prepare a meal. 

Taking a couple of towels Ben led Dick fifty yards 
down the mountain stream, which in the full flush of 
its July volume sang and roared lustily as it poured 
over and around the bowlders in its narrow bed. Here 
and there were worn deep hollows in the rocky bot- 
tom, nature’s bathtubs. 

They stripped and slipped into the cold, pure water. 
With sharp intakings of breath they soused, spluttered 
and splashed, slapped each other resounding smacks, 
yelled like Indians and laughed like boys — which they 
were. Under the magic elixir of clear air, cold water, 
brilliant sunshine and utter freedom from restraint, 
143 


IBzn (KUatman 


from pure joy of living, they tugged and jumped and 
rubbed briskly until they were aglow with the riotous 
energy of red, coursing blood. 

“Ye Gods! What a physique!” exclaimed Dick as 
his eyes ran over the splendid form, the corrugated 
muscles of his companion. “A gladiator from the 
Roman arena!” 

They jerked on their clothes and ran a foot race 
back to the tent, Dick starting in the lead. When half 
the distance had been covered Ben darted lightly up 
beside him, with a quick movement swung him to his 
back and, with scarcely a slackening of speed, finished 
the course. 

Ben laughed light-heartedly to Dick’s “Great Scott, 
man !” as he set him on his feet. 

With blood tingling, skins glowing and appetites ra- 
vening, they fell upon Danny’s coffee, biscuits, syrup 
and bacon which began to melt away like morning 
mists before the sun. 

“I done my mornin’s oblations afore y’u fellers 
come,” offered Dan, throwing out one of his prize 
words carelessly but noting with great satisfaction its 
effect upon his listeners, which was, indeed, marked. 

“In a tin can, eh?” suggested Ben. 

“Too bad y’u fellers is troubled ’ith desspepsee,” 
growled Dan, sarcastically, as he watched the victuals 
disappear. “Why don’t y’u take somethin’ fur ut?” 

“Ain’t we takin’ enough, Dan?” grinned Ben, and 
then lifted a crisp piece of bacon in his fingers, tipped 
his head back and dropped the succulent morsel be- 
tween his white, strong teeth. 

“Y’u cun git too much uv any one thing,” Dan re- 
sponded. “I’ve ben a eatin’ trout this season s’much 
I strike at flies.” 

“Is there any game around these mountains ?” asked 
Dick, after laughing at Dan’s remark, his mouth full 
of biscuit and syrup. 


144 


"Ben iKHarman 


“Oh, thur’s jackrabbits, sage-hen, grouse, ground- 
hogs, kiotes, wolves, deer, elk, slow elk, bear un’ chip- 
munks. Say, ever notice them chipmunks? When 
y’u come up along the road with a big load they scam- 
per away un’ tell the rest o’ the chipmunks about a 
big party thet come all the way up the mountain with 
a four-horse outfit carrying two tons, jest to hunt ’em 
un’ run ’em down. They’re jest like some people who 
think they’re bein’ searched fur un’ run down when 
they ain’t even thought uv ; ’cept mebbe ’ith amuse- 
ment. Sech folks is sufferin’ from enlarged — uh — 
egotizmus ; they’re — they’re pairofnoiseacs ; thet’s what 
they be.” 

“You’re a great student of human nature and an 
acute observer of the frailties of your kind, Dan. But 
speaking of animals ” 

“Yeh; speakin’ uv animals reminds me uv some 
mighty curious critters round hereabout. There’s one 
we calls the Uglywoo; got a sharp, stiff tail; when 
y’u corners him he stands on his tail un’ whirls ontil 
he bores a hole un’ disappears in ut.” Dan finished a 
saucer of black coffee with audible relish. 

“Mighty curious that, sure,” assented Dick, encour- 
agingly. “Presume there are stranger ones than 
that.” 

“Yep,” continued Dan, “the other day I chased a 
Tipangle; he’s got short legs on one side un’ long’uns 
on the other, so uz he cun run around the side o’ 
the mountain, allers keepin’ even. I surrounds him 
un’ thinks I hez ’im ; but I don’t get ’im.” Dan paused 
and munched a piece of bacon slowly as if in remin- 
iscent thought, his face meanwhile bearing all the sig- 
nificant expression of a pan of dough. 

“Too bad,” offered Dick, sympathetically. “How’d 
he get away ?” 

“Well, when he sees I hez ’im cornered, he turns 
round t’ other way rapid, his long legs come on the 
145 


15tn ftOarman 


upside uv the hill, he loses his balance and falls off 
intuh space,” he wound up, pensively. 

“Wonderful, wonderful !” Dick mused aloud with 
serious mien. 

“I almQst hate tuh tell y’u about the other’n afeared 
y’u’ll question muh voracity,” sighed the old miner. 

“No, not at all, Danny,” Dick assured him, glancing 
at Danny’s plate and then at Ben. “How could you 
think that of me?” 

“It’s about the great One-eyed Screaming Gulpin, a 
horrorible bird, inhabitationing the highest peaks. I 
sees ’im but never near ’nough t’ git a chance tuh cap- 
ture ’im. I see one ’bout nine hundred yards away 
oncet ; but I don’t shoot ; ut’s too fur ; feared uh strain- 
in’ muh rifle. But I know a feller uz does meet up ’ith 
one.” 

“And he got him?” 

“Naw,” replied Dan, solemnly, shaking his 
head mysteriously at the recollection. Slowly he 
resumed. “Well, sir, when thet feller reaches 
out fur ’im thet thing jest turned him a look uh 
sneer un’ delision, guv a mighty, sickinin’ gulp — un’ 
swallers hisself.” 

Dick fell off of his stool, rolled over on his back 
and spasmodically kicked his feet in the air. Simulta- 
neously Ben jumped up. While Dick punctuated the 
air with his shrieks of laughter, Ben yelled “Whoop, 
Danny, y’u’re a One-eyed Screamin’ Gulpin yourself. 
Ef we swallered all thet we’d beat the performance uv 
thet bird ourselves. Uz it is y’u’ll swallow ut y’urself.” 
And he reached over and gave the triumphant Danny a 
slap on the back that sent him into a choking fit on 
the ground beside Dick, who pummeled him in the 
back to cure like with like. Dan was soon on his feet, 
breathing naturally again, somewhat subdued, but still 
conscious of a glorious success. 

“Danny, y’u c’u’d fool a wise man but y’u can’t fool 
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TBett ©Harman 


us,” laughed Dick, grabbing a pick, as Ben pointed up 
the hill to the workings and led the way. 

“Wise men, wise men! bah!” Dan’s voice followed 
them insistently as he gathered up the dishes and 
placed them in a big, new, shiny dishpan. “They’re 
the easiest kind. Many a man gits a repetation fur 
bein’ wise when ut’s only a mouthful uh terbaccer 
juice keeps him from talkin’.” As they had passed 
from hearing he muttered his final conclusion into his 
whiskers: “Un* I cun pick more brains out uv a 
knothole ’ith a darnin’ needle than them kind cun show 
a lien on. Doggone, what wuz thet word I wuz tryin’ 
tuh think uv? C’u’dn’t fetch ut tuh save muh life. 
It’ll come back t’me sometime. She wuz shore a raaza- 
malooloo.” 

After a preliminary inspection of an hour Ben and 
Dick decided to follow the course of the lead for sev- 
eral miles each way to see if it outcropped at any other 
point ; whether it could be traced through the country 
and if so whether mineralized; whether it showed an 
ore chute, indicated by the sponge iron, at any other 
point on the lead. This was a full half day’s work 
and Dan’s dinner was fully prepared and waiting when 
they returned, notwithstanding he had cut and trimmed 
a score of logs for the cabin. 

They threw themselves on their respective blocks of 
wood that served as stools, after laving their faces, 
throats and hands in the cold stream, disdaining the 
new, brilliant, tin washpan Dan brought proudly 
forth. 

The meal had not proceeded very far when Ben re- 
marked disconsolately: “Say, this meat is so tough I 
can’t hardly cut the gravy.” 

“Them stools,” said Dan, ignoring with scornful dig- 
nity Ben’s broadside, “ain’t the comfortabulliest seats 
in the world. Thet’s one thing I furgot — three chairs.” 
Dan emphasized the numerals with a chortle. “I’ll 
147 


"IBeit OJatman 


make some; it’ll make ut more like home like round’ 
here. Well, what’d y’u find ?” 

“Nuthin’, Dan,” Ben answered, “the lead probably 
extends both ways from here but she’s under the wash 
un’ll have tuh be prospected fur ’ith shafts. That 
takes money. Of course, after we strike it big and 
rich capital’ll come crowdin’ sideways tuh git in.” 

“Umph,” grunted Dan, “y’u’re perjectin’ y’ur 
thoughts a leetle high intuh the cercumbent atmosphere, 
ain’t yuh? Better find somethin’ in y’ur own ground 
fust. In course, y’u’ve got a bonanza ; everybody hez. 
I’ve had ’em ; but I’ve seen many a bonanza turn intuh 
a borraska.” Then with exaggerated modesty he con- 
cluded : “But I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout copper. I’m 
a gold miner.” 

“Dan, y’u old croaker, y’u’re a hoax un’ y’u ain’t a 
real croaker at all. Y’u know y’u’re uz enthusaistic 
’bout this uz I am.” 

Dan grinned weakly, thereby admitting the soft 
impeachment. 

“You’ve been spilling parts of your vocabulary 
pretty much all over the West, haven’t you, Dan?” 
Dick inquired. 

“No, sir, by gravy; I’m not sloppy in my cookin’, 
am I, Ben ?” he appealed. Ben kept a serene face and 
responded : “Naw, y’u ain’t sloppy in y’ur cookin’, but 
Dick means y’ur speech ; un’ I can’t say uz much fur 
y’u along thet line, Dan ; my conscience is some tough 
but I c’u’dn’t put thet on ut; w’u’dn’t be right.” 

“Oh, muh speech! Why didn’t yuh say so?” Af- 
terward Dan very laboriously wrote in a small, dog- 
eared blank book, at the bottom of a long list: Vo- 
keabuhlerry ; nodding his head in confirmation and ap- 
proval when done. 

“Yeh, I’ve ben all over the country. Ben tuh She- 
cawgo, too.” 

“How long have you been on this range ?” 

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ISett iMJarman 


“When I come here,” Dan answered gravely, jerk- 
ing his thumb over his shoulder toward the West, “ol’ 
Vulcan over thur wuz a hole in the ground. Why, I’m 
the galoot thet dug Jackson Hole.” 

“Say, Ben,” suddenly remarked Dick, tasting his 
coffee with that peculiar look of uncertainty that de- 
notes suspicion of edibles or drinkables, “what’s the 
matter with this coffee?” 

“Now’ut y’u mention ut I did notice somethin’ funny 
’bout ut.” 

“I don’t say that there’s anything wrong with it, but 
a fellow told me the other day that Dan couldn’t boil 
water without scorching it.” 

“Aw, g’wan! Yu feller’s heads is full uh gossan; 
y’ur brains is leached,” Dan exclaimed, striking at 
Dick with a new tin dipper, but carefully missing him. 
Dan was solicitous of his utensils. 

Dick passed around the cigars and peace was re- 
stored for a moment. Dan looked at his cigar care- 
fully. “In course, we’re out doors — but is this one 
y’u c’u’d smoke in the house?” 

“I couldn’t but — you could,” Dick retorted. 

“Did you ever make a stake?” Dick asked, pres- 
ently. 

“No, but I’ve cooked ’em.” 

“No, seriously, did you?” 

“Yep, a small’un. Had a claim oncet down in Colo- 
rado.” The bushy-headed miner was here overcome 
with a spasm of silent laughter. “After I paid the lo- 
cator ten dollars fur ut a one-eyed feller come along 
and sez he: 

“ Tve hed my eye on thet claim fur some time.’ 

“ 'Y’u shore ur exact in y’ur language,’ sez I. 

“ T want tuh git thet claim ; what’s y’ur figger ?’ sez 
he. 

“ 'Y’u’ve still got an eye single tuh thet thur pur- 
pose,’ says I. With thet he gits mad un’ don’t take ut. 
149 


15e n 2Uatman 


I loses a sale. Jest tuh show yuh what un id jut he 
wuz he called me a damn fool. ,, 

Dan puffed reminiscently again. 

“But the stake, you said you made a small stake.” 

“Yep, I did. Finally got a man int’rusted in muh 
claim. But I needed a report on the property. Saw 
one of these here half real estate fellers, one uh the 
kind thet advertizes thet he’s ben ’stablished in the 
camp fur more’un a year. ‘Y’u don’t hev tuh see the 
property to report on ut, do yuh ?’ says I, meanin’ly. 

“ ‘Ah — hem — hum — no,’ sez he. ‘Not absolutely 
necessary.’ 

“ ‘How much ?’ sez I. 

“ ‘Cash ur time ?’ sez he. 

“ ‘What’s the diff ’runce ?’ sez I. 

“‘Time, one thousand; cash, twenty-five dollars.’ 

“ ‘I’ll take the cash deal,’ sez I, ‘un’ pay yuh uz soon 
uz I make a sale.’ 

“ ‘All right,’ sez he, un’ we clinched. Well, he fur- 
nished the report un’, considerin’ the property, she 
shore wuz a raazamalooloo. I persented ut t’ muh 
man; got him tuh go over the ground un’ he saw it 
the same way I did. I bought ut sight-on-seen. He 
wuz a blind man. Sez he : 

“ ‘How much y’u askin’ ?’ 

“ ‘Ten thousand dollars,’ sez I. 

“ ‘I’ll give yuh one thousand.’ 

“ ‘Nobudy ever knew Dan Drillard to spoil a deal fur 
a measly nine thousand dollars,’ sez I. The sale wuz 
made.” 

A snort from Ben was the only interruption between 
the wordy duelists. 

“Where was this claim, Dan ?” Dick persisted quick- 
ly, wondering what the incorrigible old prospector 
would invent next. 

“Colorado, I told yuh. Name o’ the range? Oh, no 
name at all ; mountain wuz off kinda sep’rut by itself.” 

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"What was the name of the mountain, Dan?” asked 
Dick immediately. 

"Well,” rejoined the old miner, knocking the ashes 
from his pipe which he had substituted for the cigar 
with a sigh of relief, "I never knowed ut hed a name 
ontil after I sold the claim tuh this feller.” 

"What was the name?” 

"This feller thet I sold the claim to,” Dan drawled, 
"called ut the Mount uv the Wholly Double-Cross.” 

Two voices simultaneously split the air and roared 
along the side hill in whooping, bounding laughter. 

"Come up agin,” grinned Dan, "make us anuther 
visitation,” as Dick swung onto his horse. 

"You couldn’t keep me away with a pick, old hoss.” 

Ben walked a little way with Dick to get him started 
on the blazed trail. "Ben, I believe you’ve got a big 
thing here,” said Dick. "And it’s a tremendous thing 
for the district. I’m going to play it up big in the 
Herald. I’ll see the Professor before I write the 
article.” 

"All right, Dick, suit y’urself. I’ll see yuh occa- 
sionally evenin’s. I expaict to keep up some studyin’ 
along gen’rul lines at the Professor’s, sort uv recite to 
’em. I’ve brought a few books up here. I figger 
studyin’ nights, goin’ down tuh recite every third night. 
I ain’t a shoutin’ this out loud to everybody, y’u un- 
derstand.” 

"Sure. If I can help you any let me know.” 

"Yuh can un’ I’ll certainly put it up t’ yuh. It’s no 
small job fur a man o’ my age tryin’ tuh catch up ten 
years uh wasted time in ten weeks ur ten months. But 
I’m a goin’ tuh do a big part uv ut anyway. I’m a 
goin’ tuh night ride this little herd uh books till I got 
’em so tame they’ll come up un’ eat out uh muh hand. 
I’m goin’ tuh know ’em from the top uh the horns tuh 
the tuft on the tail where they write finis; ’till I cun 
guess thur weight t’ a pound; rope ’em in the dark, 


'Ben SHatman 


horn ur off hindleg, hog-tie ’em un’ put muh brand on 
’em anywhere. 

“There’s a grammer, arithmetic, dictionary, Longfel- 
low’s Poems, Shakespeare un’ — un’ a Bible ; the Prof, 
sez thet Bible is the greatest literatchur uv ’em all. 
An’, jest fur recreation like, to spell me, thur’s a nice, 
little solid book ’bout three inches thick on geology and 
mineralogy. I’ll post up on copper uz a little light 
readin’ after the heavy work of grammer un’ literat- 
chur. But, so long; here’s where I leave yuh. Don’t 
furgit thet name — Travers.” 

Dick waved a parting salute. 


152 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“to the stars through difficulties” 

As an explorer stands at the very edge of the foot- 
hills that lead gradually upward to the base of the 
mountain which forms but one of the innumerable host 
that comprise a mighty range, so Ben Warman stood 
at the foot of the first rise in the long succession of 
ascents to the wonderful range of man’s recorded ex- 
'perience, knowledge and deeds. And when the first 
simplest steps were fraught with mystery and impeded 
by a net of complications he began to realize something 
of the infinite scope of it all. The full sense of his 
own limitations even in the things that were every- 
where considered as ordinary grew upon him ; he 
was overwhelmed. 

But his fighting spirit arose and he determined to 
acquire at least an average amount of learning at what- 
ever cost of time and grinding labor. Thus his days 
were now filled with hard, physical toil, his evenings, 
and many times a part of the long night, with study, 
memorizing, reading ; analyzing by crude, natural pro- 
cesses of deduction. From the weary monotony of 
memorizing rules of grammar, definitions, declensions 
and conjugations, he would turn with avidity to Long- 
fellow, whose simple, earnest poems of the home and 
heart he could understand in part and grew gradually 
to appreciate even unto the charm of the ideas and the 
manner of expression. 

And then there were the intricacies of arithmetic 
which, however, he grasped with much less difficulty; 
here he could get definite results, see them, prove them, 

153 


T5en ©Harman 


apply them to practical things ; the amount, value and 
profits of copper ore of a given percent in a given area. 
The answer represented so much money that he 
thought he must be wrong and then he would go over 
it all again and finally conclude: “Well, she’s big 
enough, anyway.” Once after gazing at the final fig- 
ures in dollars he divided it in three, and, after another 
period of contemplation, added two of the thirds to- 
gether. “It’ll all be hers anyway if ” he said aloud, 

but did not finish the sentence. 

Among other practical things he would try to figure 
the amount of water that could be carried in a ditch 
of certain dimensions and fall; the cost of the con- 
struction of such a ditch and of a four-wire fence 
around ten thousand acres. And there he would stop 
as he knew nothing about planting, reaping, the' cost 
and profits of crops. 

When he had written figures until they danced be- 
fore his vision like a swarm of miniature hobgoblins 
he would push away his slate and pencil and with rev- 
erence amounting almost to awe reach up for his 
Shakespeare or the Bible with one hand and, with 
grim persistence, for his worn dictionary with the 
other. 

He fell into the habit of regarding these books in 
the light of gold mines with pay streaks frequent and 
of high grade, occasionally containing large nuggets 
of wisdom as an extra reward. 

Meanwhile a log cabin was built, a partition put in 
and a six by eight shaft was steadily sinking into the 
iron lead. 

“Don’t do it, son,” said Dan, referring to Ben’s 
steady application by night as well as by day. “Y’u 
can’t stand ut ; ut’ll wear y’u out.” 

“No danger, Dan,” Ben replied, smilingly stretch- 
ing out a wonderful arm hardened like a bar of steel. 
Dan recoiled from it and admitted: 

154 


15m EHarman 


“I w’u’dn’t care tuh run agin thet piston when ut 
wuz workin’. I might hev un accident like thet uz 
happens to the feller thet tries to pull off the ground 
five men a holdin’ a rope slung over a limb, with his 
neck. He’s injured fatal by thur hevin’ accidental 
fixed thet rope on his neck ’ith a slip noose, the knot 
happenin’ under his right ear. It exaggregates the 
spinial colyum ; result is he goes to thet burn from 
which no traveler returnest.” 

The oases in Ben’s desert of steady labor were his 
intermittent trips of an evening to his school — the Pro- 
fessor’s. It was more than a good half hour’s ride on 
Mesa to the town and a little over an hour’s ride back 
up to the mine. He would recite and ride back about 
ten or eleven o’clock and was far too tired and busy to 
frequent the saloons and gambling houses, for which 
he had now but an occasional inclination, or even to 
visit his friends. He seldom saw anyone now save 
at the Professor’s, except Dick Grant. To the Profes- 
sor and sometimes to Rose he would review what he 
had been over, expressing his opinions, ofttimes crude, 
sometimes reasonable and again original and striking 
to such a degree that even the Professor found a new 
point of view. 

They would usually talk over developments at the 
mine first and review the progress made. But there 
was little change in that. After forty days of unremit- 
ting toil the shaft, still in the same material, had 
reached a depth of fifty feet. This was good prog- 
ress. The pull of the muck out of the shaft was a long 
one now for hand and windlass work and Dan’s 
shaggy pony, Ginger, had been pressed into service. 
Every day saw him treading the monotonous round of 
the whim’s circle. A red-headed Irish lad, Ruddy 
Burns, “Rud” for short, was added to their small 
force. Rud was as quick with his wits as with his 
hands and as nimble with his feet as with either. 

155 


'Ben <R3atman 


So Ben reported on conditions and his studies one 
night early in September. He had taken the liberty 
of presenting Dick Grant at the Graham home and 
Dick had formed the habit, most agreeable to all of 
them, of frequently joining Ben and spending the 
Study and recitation hours with them. And so he was 
present this night. 

The Professor had been delighted to make the ac- 
quaintance of the aggressive young editor and wel- 
comed him, first on Ben’s account, then on his own. 
Dick was educated, he had lived and worked in New 
York, his literary tastes in the main agreed with the 
old scholar’s, varying enough, however, to give them 
plenty of material for discussion. Dick was cultured, 
polite, agreeable, brilliant. Rose liked him and was 
always glad to have him visit them. Her father found 
himself attracted to Dick in an unusual degree. As 
time went on, at their urgent request, he called more 
and more frequently. The old student’s liking for him 
grew steadily, as did Rose’s. 

Rose made no inquiry of Ben or anyone as to 
whether he frequented the saloons and gambling 
houses or places of amusement as of old. She was 
content with what Ben voluntarily offered in the way 
of information. She knew he was in town but little 
and was really surprised at the dogged persistence 
with which he stuck to his work and his studies. She 
saw that it was pure will power at first that kept him 
at it for she felt that he had realized the tremendous- 
ness of the task he had laid out for himself ; both in the 
acquirement of book knowledge and in the reforma- 
tion of his habits. He was making a splendid start. 
His speech was improving quite perceptibly, especially 
when he took extra care, as he generally did, in her 
presence. Still his lapses into the old style were fre- 
quent so that his manner of speech was uncertain, a 
mixture of the old and the new; and sometimes the 
156 


TSzn (Miamian 


old, in moments of stress or strain, predominated. 

More and more Ben noticed that the old questioning 
look in her eyes was momentarily absent; they never 
accused ; they never indicated real distrust or suspi- 
cion, they simply questioned while she waited the re- 
sult; awaited to have her belief in him sustained and 
proven. He knew he was slowly but surely gaining 
her confidence and faith. This was a long step, con- 
sidering what he had been and that she knew what he 
had been. Usually during his visits they had a few 
moments to themselves. And so it happened this 
night, the Professor and Dick having strolled out to 
finish under the stars an animated discussion over a 
question of art. 

“You are working pretty hard,” suggested Rose as 
she noticed that every ounce of superfluous flesh was 
gone from him. He was as lean as a hound and as 
sinewy. She thought she saw that it made his face a 
little more intellectual; at least an undefinable some- 
thing began to show in his expression. The lines of 
his face seemed finer. 

“Oh, yes, Rose, I’m working but I’m fit to work. 
Why shouldn’t I ? I’m as sound as a dollar and young. 
The harder I work the harder my muscles get and the 
harder they get the harder I can work, don’t y’u see ?” 

“Yes, that’s the physical part of it, but you are also 
working mentally, and at a time, I imagine, when you 
should be resting and sleeping — recuperating your 
physical powers.” 

“Course, that’s true,” he assented. “A water hole 
don’t last long compared to a spring-fed lake.” 

“You must save yourself and your youth,” she 
continued. 

“Seems to me,” rejoined Ben, laughingly, “that I’ve 
heard y’u say something before this about savin’ my 
youth.” 

“That reminds me,” suddenly said Rose, “of a poem 

157 


'Bctt ©Barman 


I have found which I intended reading you sometime 
— I think perhaps this is the time,” she concluded, 
brightly. 

“No time like the present, they tell me, un’ I believe 
it this present time, sure,” Ben replied, not attempt- 
ing to restrain his eagerness and pleasure. 

Rose, having found the poem, after they had made 
themselves comfortable in the easy rocking chairs, 
read in her low, softly modulated voice whose every 
accent Ben had grown to love : 

Oh, radiant, wondrous Youth! Oh, Youth that 
reign’st but once, 

And gone, art ever gone, and com’st again no more — 
Save in the shining spirit and the happy heart — 
How proudly insolent thou tread’st superb before 
The world ! All knowledge, truth, all faith and hope 
are thine 

Inheritance. Oh, Youth, what is not given thee! 

With independence and disdain thou spurnest all 
That serves thee not. In thee doth burn, intense and 
free, 

The vital spark, the heat divine, resurgent strength, 
Resplendent life. Thy veins with wine and fire swift 
flow. 

Exultant love deep stirs thy heart and thrills thy 
sense 

With thoughts that flash and flare, that flame and 
gleam and glow 

Until all skies are turned to amethyst and rose, 

Until all earth responds with song magnificent. 

All beauty, spirit, charm, all grace and lure are thine 
To fascinate, to hold in bright imprisonment; 
Enchant, inspire, enfold in bondage wonderful, 
Incarceration sweet, till silv’ry chains and ropes 
Of gold thy prisoners enwrap. The rising sun 
Upon thy forehead fair doth strike. Along its slopes 

158 


15en ffllarman 


Of blazing light thine eagle eyes unshrinking gaze, 
Unhurt, undaunted, unafraid. Oh, glorious Youth! 
With possibilities that grandly stretch adown 
The coming years, wage thou the endless war of truth ! 
Waste not with careless prodigality thy force. 

Strike with thine arm of marv’lous might resistless 
blows 

For justice and for right. Give of thy peerless strength 
To sweep away the wrong. The world s deep-seated 
woes 

Assuage. Injustice banish. Want relieve and crime 
Eradicate. If thou wilt answer true and high 
Thy calling great and justify thy noble gifts, 
Advance! Give battle strong! Thy being glorify! 

Ben’s eyes flashed his appreciation of — the girl, the 
voice, the poem. “She’s a reg’lar bugle-call tuh battle ! 
That ought to wake up a dead man,” he burst out en- 
thusiastically. 

Rose smiled. “I thought perhaps you would like it.” 
Then, with inquiry in her face, she stated the ques- 
tion in the guise of a statement of fact: “You’ve 
made a good start.” 

“I’ve succeeded purty well, so fur — far, Rose, but 
I’m so blamed busy I don’t have time to go piroutin’ 
round lookin’ fur trouble. Busy! Why, a bunch of 
cowboys a headin’ a stampede are enjoyin’ a siesta 
compared to the daily roundup I’m runnin’. Un’ I 
hain’t — haven’t any hankerin’ — er — inclination that- 
away; leastwise there’s mighty little uv ut left,” he 
laughed. “But I’m sure servin’ that sentence uh hard 
labor you suggested a couple of months ago. My en- 
ergies are occupied un’ I’m a poundin’ ’em against 
thin air I don’t think! I ain’t lookin’ fur any more 
resistance to ’em than I’ve got nowadays. 

“But it’s the other work, the book work, that makes 
me peel my coat un’ get down to brass tacks. Say, I’d 

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rather drill a three-foot hole in genuine gray granite 
any time than dig out some uv them — those pints uv 
grammer. But when I get ’em I’m uz proud uz a fine 
drivin’ horse with silver-plated harness. I jest curve 
my neck and paw the earth. Then — Danny reminds 
me I’ve got a heap to learn yet an’ tuh not get chesty.” 

“You are doing splendidly, Ben,” Rose exclaimed 
earnestly. “I believe there are great things in store 
for you ; you’ll grow rapidly every way and when you 
do, and when the mine pans out, you won’t forget the 
other matters, the irrigation, the railroad and the town. 
They look very large and formidable now, but the time 
will come when you will be capable of doing those 
very things. I had hoped it before, I am convinced 
now. I begin to believe that you will because ” 

For some reason the enthusiastic girl found it diffi- 
cult to say just what she wished. A feeling had been 
growing on her of late that made it hard for her to 
look at Ben with the measured frankness to which she 
had been accustomed, the quiet self-possessed candor 
that had been hers. The old comradeship seemed 
strangely resisted by something within. 

“Because — I’ve more faith in you now. These pro- 
jects are not the most important, either; the most im- 
portant is your own development — and self-control.” 

Then, with a merry flash of eyes and teeth, she 
added : “Since Daddy isn’t here to do so, I’ll give you 
a quotation : ‘Vincit qui se vincit.’ ” 

Ben laughed. “Throw her open now; what’s the 
answer ?” 

“ 'He conquers who overcomes himself,’ ” she trans- 
lated. He repeated the original and the translation 
faithfully and slowly. His brows were lowered in mo- 
mentary study. “Say, there’s a heap uv meanin’ — 
meaning packed into th — those words, ain’t there ?” 

Ben had seen the process of Rose’s slowly gathering 
faith and trust, had read it in her eyes, but it was fine 
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TSzn OJarman 


to hear her say that she had faith in him. He drew 
a long breath. 

“Rose, y’u don’t know what that means tuh me. 
Y’u don’t even know how hard I’ve worked ; how I’ve 
— how muh will has ridden muh buckin’ inclinations, 
how I’ve resisted, how far I’ve come. I knew y’u put 
no faith in me at first; y’u c’u’dn’t until I showed 
yuh I c’u’d be decent. Y’u wuz sure white when yuh 
gave me a chance. I told muhself when I first saw 
yuh that I wuzn’t fit to breathe the same air with yuh, 
un’ I wuzn’t. Un y’u knew ut ; but y’u treated me like 
a white man as might be fit if he got the idea right in 
his head — if he woke up.” 

Rose did not look at him while he thus spoke more 
intimately than he ever had. She could not look up 
at him now, there was too much intensity and vibrant 
feeling in his voice. A shyness, strange and inex- 
plicable to her, had come over her. She remained si- 
lent with eyes cast down. 

Ben continued earnestly, almost passionately, gram- 
mar and new speech forgotten : “Thet’s what done ut. 
After yu showed me I seen a whole lot uh things I 
hadn’t seen before. The world got fine un’ big all of 
a sudden. I found out thur wuz somethin’ more in 
life thun drinkin’, gamblin’, shootin’ un’ a roamin’ 
round like a wild animal; somethin’ more in me thun 
just blood un’ muscles, a heart tuh pump blood un’ 
un appetite; somethin’ higher up thun these physical 
things ; somethin’ a good deal finer un’ pleasanter un’ 
bigger un’ — un’ grander. Un’ y’u, y’u wuz the cause 
uv ut all. Y’u’re the center uv all muh thinkin’ un’ 
plannin’ un’ workin’ ; seems like y’u ur in everything I 
do un’ work at ; only y’u’re always higher up un’ I feel 
like I’ve jest got tuh climb up where y’u are ; un’ when 
I get there I — I hope tuh God y’u’ll be there — cause ef 
y’u ain’t ” 

Moved by an irresistible impulse, roused by the un- 
161 


IBen (KHanttatt 


expected declaration, the intensity and passion of his 
tones, Rose turned and, as he grasped her hand, lifted 
her eyes for one swift instant to his, looked quickly 
down again and then 

“It is a school of art that is based on a wrong stand- 
ard,” the Professor’s voice was saying and steps ap- 
proached the door. 

Ben quickly lifted her hand, kissed it with a fervor 
that startled the girl, dropped it, seized his hat, and, as 
he stepped by them at the door, gave the Professor 
and Dick a brief “good-night.” 

There came back the sound of Mesa’s galloping 
hoofs as they smote the hard ground. To Rose those 
hoof-beats were audible long after they had ceased 
to be noticed by her father and Dick ; and when they 
passed from her hearing her heart-beats seemed to take 
their place and continue to echo them. 

As Ben rode on hope sang a new song in his heart 
beneath the worn flannel shirt. He shook back his 
golden clusters as he threw up his head and gazed at * 
the sky. The night was dark. Myriad stars looked 
like the lights of a thousand aerial fleets traversing 
the firmament. And there came to him a saying he 
had heard the Professor use in one of their talks de- 
signed by the kindly-hearted old visionary for his en- 
couragement, and which he had particularly memor- 
ized: “Ad astra per aspera.” “To the stars through 
difficulties,” he spoke aloud to the night wind. And 
the night whispered back to him: “To the stars 
through difficulties.” 


162 


CHAPTER XIX 


DICK GRANT MAKES A DISCOVERY 

The sixteenth of September was drawing near. 
Meanwhile various things were happening. Dick 
Grant, newspaper man, was everywhere all the time, 
as was his business, to find out not only who every- 
body was but what they were doing and going to do, 
how they were to do it and when it was to be done. 

In the next issue after his visit to Ben’s camp the 
Herald in big headlines “heralded” the news to all the 
world that the gold belt at Diorite was backed by a 
tremendous copper belt that would astonish the mining 
world. It would, incidentally, make Diorite the cen- 
ter of the largest mining interests in the West. 

Then were to follow smelters, concentrators, mills 
until the host of reduction plants would darken the 
sky with their smoke. The age of copper was coming 
swiftly on and it was to be the destiny of the Diorite 
district to launch the great copper era. Then followed 
a glowing account of the Columbine property. 

Then, Dick Grant made the acquaintance of Trixie 
Howard. As stated it was his business to know every- 
body and go everywhere. Familiar with her kind and 
fully confident of his ability to escape any entangle- 
ment he saw her frequently and was compelled to ad- 
mire her dash, beauty and calculating capableness. 
Trixie was holding herself well in hand and, though 
Diorite was not deceived, it grew to pay her rather a 
mead of respect; accepting as a matter of course and 
no cause for prying curiosity the fact that she was, 
though young and unmarried, keeping house alone save 
163 


TSzn OBarman 


for an elderly housekeeper of evident respectability. 

Hence it was that, while it was of course noticed, it 
created no particular comment when Gerald Lorimer 
was frequently seen in her company. The public, 
though it had no definite knowledge, surmised the truth 
concerning sundry card parties at which these two 
were present, usually in company with Conley and 
Colvert and, occasionally, Shifty Sam, Conley’s 
shadow, and which were now held pretty regularly at 
Trixie’s apartments. 

Lorimer’s bankers in New York shook their heads 
significantly as they honored drafts of considerable 
size with growing frequency. The estate of Gerald 
Lorimer, Sr., had been transferred, soon after his 
death, into money, negotiable bonds and dividend pay- 
ing stocks, all gilt-edged. The original sum, be- 
queathed in equal amounts to Gerald and Sibyl, was 
large. Sibyl’s fortune was still intact, but Gerald’s ac- 
count was now biting deeply into the principal. 

But Gerald Lorimer was becoming involved in more 
than a financial way. Inherited principle and moral 
fibre, theretofore inoculated with the germs of disin- 
tegration, were surely and gradually loosening. The 
freedom and lack of restraint, the absence of the 
confining influences that had hedged him about in the 
East — family history, family pride, society, which at 
least outwardly held tenaciously to certain rules of 
conduct through fear of losing caste — forced him to 
stand alone upon his own inherent strength of char- 
acter ; the test was proving too much for his weak will, 
his selfish, pleasure and excitement loving nature. A 
foolish remnant of perverted pride pulled him back 
to the gambling table insistently, hoping to recoup his 
losses and thereby gain a standing among his new asso- 
ciates. 

But in time it was not entirely the passion for play 
that brought him in almost daily and nightly contact 
164 


'Ben caiarman 


with his despoilers. Trixie Howard had begun to hold 
for him an attraction that he could not, and at first did 
not wish to, shake off. Though she was uneducated 
and, at times, coarse when the veneer was broken 
through, her bold beauty, strength of personality, vi- 
tality and magnetism were weaving about him a net 
from which escape was well nigh impossible. 

Occasionally he felt, in the few brief moments he 
took to regard himself and his future, that he was 
rapidly and surely lowering himself. Even his desire 
and ambition in his art, his drawing and painting, were 
being emasculated and he realized that his ability to 
reproduce upon the canvas had seriously suffered. 
Regular drinking now came as a matter of course and 
that this should lead to frequent excesses was not un- 
expected. That his deterioration physically, men- 
tally, morally should be markedly in evidence in his 
appearance inevitably followed. 

Save for an occasional feeble effort to throw them 
off, at Sibyl’s almost angry solicitations, he settled 
more heavily and carelessly against the coils. The 
weaker and more indifferent he grew the stronger be- 
came his sudden passion for Trixie Howard. 

She was using him for a two-fold purpose; to in- 
crease the bank account of herself and accomplices and 
of extracting from him knowledge which might be use- 
ful to Conley and his confederates. To Lorimer their 
first meeting had been casual though, in reality, clever- 
ly contrived and arranged with skillful effect. She 
had used very little of the arts of attraction of which 
she was a consummate mistress to ensnare him. Simu- 
lated interest in and flattery had been sufficient. Soon 
she refrained from particular encouragement — just 
sufficient to insure his attendance at her card tables. 
Of late it had become necessary for her to discourage 
and repress him. 

In his few calm moments of reaction he realized his 

165 


'Ben MJatman 


position and condition. He knew, at such moments, 
that his real desires centered in Rose Graham. When 
in her presence the scales momentarily dropped from 
his eyes and he saw all that might have been, that 
might yet be, had he the stamina, the will power, the 
moral strength to resist the damnable influences that 
were pulling him down. 

Spasmodic resolutions came, temporary purposes 
formed to change his course. Sibyl saw and under- 
stood it all and, as it fell in with her own plans, gladly 
endeavored and frequently succeeded in throwing her 
brother and Rose together by insisting on Rose’s ac- 
companying them on their trips about the hills, visit- 
ing them, or rather her, at the hotel and availing her- 
self to the utmost of Rose’s early invitation to visit 
her home at any time. 

Gerald was not loath to accept her plans, when he 
could be found to join them. He was restless and 
moody at all times now, save when in the actual pres- 
ence of Rose. Soon it came to be that he felt the call 
for a return to higher planes only when in her actual 
company. When with her he was at first subject to the 
most acute remorse and suffering. In the hope of ex- 
tricating himself and saving his future at one great 
deliverance, he had been on the point, a number of 
times, of declaring himself to Rose but would suddenly 
realize that she had not given him the least sign of 
encouragement. Still his vanity contemplated an ac- 
ceptance of his suit. 

The clear eyes of Rose Graham, steady, self-con- 
tained, read his character with unerring instinct. She 
might have despised him utterly had she not been so 
filled with womanly tenderness and kindness. Even 
as she had a broad charity for the shortcomings of 
Ben Warman from the first — though the man and the 
conditions were vastly different — so she hoped for his 
own sake and for Sibyl’s that Lorimer would recover 
1 66 


TStn ffiBarman 


himself. She pitied him and felt a real sorrow for 
Sibyl. Yet she knew not the degree to which the 
remnants of Gerald’s hopes were fixed upon herself. 
Then there were certain other matters in these pro- 
lific days of early September. One day Dick Grant 
made the acquaintance of Colvert. In his capacity 
of reporter, editor and circulator about town Dick met 
him. On parting Colvert handed Dick his card, which 
Dick put in his pocket after glancing at it casually. 
The succeeding day he rode up to see Ben. They had 
scarcely exchanged greetings when Dick said : “There 
may be something in the card case matter after all.” 

Ben’s eyes flashed as he waited for Dick to proceed. 

“Yes, I met a man who has been in the camp for 
a number of weeks. This morning I happened to pull 
out of my vest pocket a card he gave me — his card. 
I noticed that it was of unusual thickness and a mo- 
ment later I had two cards in my hand; they had 
stuck together. One of them read: ‘W. S. Colvert;’ 
the other: ‘A. J. Travers.’ ” 

“The man in the corduroy suit,” Ben exclaimed, his 
eyes narrowing with the intensity of his thoughts 
and conjectures. “Anything else?” 

“This morning I took a look at his hat while he was 
at breakfast. The initials were A. J. T.” 

“He was interested in copper, was he?” 

“Very much. He seemed to have a large thirst for 
knowledge about your progress up here.” 

“Who is he and what does he represent, anyhow?” 

“You’ll have to swear another witness now,” Dick 
replied. 

“Who does he associate with in town?” 

“No one in particular. Loafs around one saloon 
and another. Plays cards a good deal. Talks very 
little. No one knows his business.” 

“At the time that card case wuz dropped here,” Ben 
rejoined, “no one knew about these claims except the 
167 


T5m barman 


Professor, Rose un’ muhself. Hold on — Lorimer and 
his sister were with us when I showed Rose the lead 
and the discovery notices. But they took no interest 
in the matter un’ knew nuthin’ uv the value uv the 
claims.” 

“If he had the power,” said Dick earnestly, “that 
man Lorimer would do you injury, notwithstanding 
you saved his worthless life. He’s going to the dogs 
fast. Conley and his crowd are skinning him to a 
finish.” 

“What the devil’s the matter with him? I don’t 
like him un’ he don’t like me but why should he do 
me any harm?” 

“Well, Ben, I’ll tell you my idea. He’s in love 
with Rose.” 

Ben turned slowly and regarded Dick intently for 
a long moment. 

“Y’u’ve seen how ut is ’ith me, Dick?” 

“Yes, Ben. And don’t you ever let up. It may 
take time, there may be a long period of probation 
for you. I don’t think Lorimer has a chance in the 
world. You don’t need to think of him again in that 
connection, except in explanation of his movements 
toward you, old man. Don't you ever let up. You 
hear me?” 

“I’d hear that, Dick, ef I wuz in the bottom of that 
shaft there. But are yuh sure about this proposition 
uz tuh Lorimer?” 

“Dead sure, Ben. He’s honorable enough in it, in 
a way, too; means business — but ” 

“But what?” 

“He can’t stop his pace and he’s going down, down, 
down; drink, gambling — and a woman.” 

“A woman! un’ he in love ’ith Rose Graham?” 

“Yes. It’s peculiar but it’s true. A woman that 
don’t care a rap for him and who is in with Conley 
and his gang to get his money, and they’re doing it. 

1 68 


15tn (KBatman 


He’s submerged now about three-fourths of the time 
and when he’s — submerged — he belongs to her. She’s 
playing him and he don’t know it. But the more he 
realizes there’s no hope for him with Rose, notwith- 
standing his money, social position, culture and all 
that, the more he’s going to hate you.” 

“But what’s all that got tuh do ’ith this man Colvert 
or Travers? What’s the connection? Any under- 
ground wires?” 

“I have a suspicion that Colvert is somehow con- 
nected with Conley and — the woman.” For some 
reason he did not pronounce the name of “the woman.” 
Had he done so subsequent events might have been 
radically different. “But I do not know anything 
to confirm the suspicion except that Colvert takes 
part in their gambling seances. What can they do, 
anyway, Ben? You’ve got your claims located all 
right, haven’t you? No one has attempted to locate 
over you?” 

“Nope. I’ve been all over our ground recently — 
yesterday; somethin’ keeps tenderin’ me up about it 
somehow, un’ there ain’t a notice, stake ur discovery 
hole, not a sign anywhere on the claims except our 
own.” 

“How about your location certificates? Are they 
properly drawn up and filed for record?” 

“Yep. Surveyor McCoy made ’em out from actual 
survey. We went over ’em carefully. Both uv us 
know the minin’ laws. We know they’re all right. 
No question ’bout that. I had ontil un’ includin’ the 
sixteenth uv this month, to git ’em recorded; but I 
did that long ago ; delivered ’em to the recorder muh- 
self ; ain’t got ’em back yet; they’re slower ’en the 
seven years’ itch in that office.” 

“Better look them up, Ben, next time you’re in or 
at least before the sixteenth, just to make sure.” 

“Let’s see. This is the twelfth, ain’t ut? I'll git 
169 


TBen MJarmatt 


down by the sixteenth anyway ; even if someone butted 
in un’ recorded certificates ahead uh mine, mine bein' 
delivered fust to the recorder makes us o. k. ” 

“Provided you could prove that you delivered them 
to the recorder." 

“I can do that ; took ’em there muhself, I tell yuh.’’ 

“Then it all depends on you; suppose something 
happened to you?" 

“Hadn’t calculated on that none. Come to figure it 
down, that’s right. Yes, I’ll step around there un’ 
look ’em up when I come down ; meanwhile I guess I 
cun take care o’ myself. Well, we’ve got that feller 
Travers located now anyhow. Wonder what his game 
is, piroutin around the country under a false name? 
That’s common enough though in the West." He con- 
cluded with a grin: “I’ve done ut muhself temporary 
in other diggins." 

“It’s not only your interest you’re looking after 
now, you know ; the Professor and Rose are depending 
on you. I wouldn’t like to see them lose a stake 
through a fluke of any kind." 

Ben studied the youthful, handsome face before 
him some moments before answering. “That’s so. 
But don’t y’u think fur a minute that I ever furget 
their end uv ut. Now come down and get some uh 
Danny’s chuck before yuh go." 


170 


CHAPTER XX 


DOWN MINER STREET 

After Dick’s departure Ben returned to his work. 
He was less concerned now about the card case since 
the identity of Travers was settled. That had both- 
ered him. Now that he knew he soon cast him from 
his mind and settled down to the daily toil and nightly 
grind. However, at noon on the sixteenth day of 
September he saddled Mesa and dropped down the 
mountain, after instructing Dan what to do in his 
absence. 

‘Til be back to-night, Dan, about eleven.” 

Arriving in town he visited the barber shop and then 
strolled leisurely around to the recorder’s office. It 
was a little after two when he entered. 

“Hello, Anderson,” he greeted the recorder non- 
chalantly. Whistling softly to himself he turned over 
the pages of the last volume of the mining records. 
As he did so Anderson turned a significant glance on 
his assistant and went on with some work at his 
desk. 

“Anderson.” 

“What is it?” 

“Just find the records of the Columbine claims for 
me. Don’t seem tuh see ’em.” 

“What claims?” 

“Columbines.” 

Anderson ostentatiously looked over the index. 
“No claims called the Columbines recorded,” he said 
finally. “Is that all?” 

“No, it ain’t all. Why ain’t they recorded? I left 
’em here on the 25th of July.” 


'Ben OJarman 


“Oh, if you left them they’re over in that box of 
unrecorded certificates. I don’t recall them just now 
but we’ll get them recorded soon. We’re way behind 
on recording. Anything else ?” 

“No, there’s nuthin’ else; but we ain’t finished this 
yet. I’ll just trouble y’u to look over that box un’ 
dig ’em up — so we’re sure.” 

“Simpson,” called Anderson, “look over those un- 
recorded certificates and see if there are any for the 
Columbine lodes.” And he returned to his work care- 
lessly. 

“No such certificates here,” presently came the voice 
of Simpson. “Never were any such certificates in the 
office.” 

“Oh, yes there were. Didn’t y’u hear me say I 
left ’em here? I delivered ’em to y’u, Anderson,” 
said Ben distinctly and slowly. 

“Don’t recall them at all, Warman. Of course, 
there being no such certificates in the office you must 
be mistaken,” rejoined Anderson in a tone of set- 
tled conviction. He must stand firm now, he realized, 
on this proposition. It was within two hours of clos- 
ing time and the game probably won. They must 
stand pat. 

“Anderson,” said Ben once more, “look in the box of 
recorded certificates. They might have accidentally 
slipped in there — I ain’t mistaken, I left ’em in your 
hands.” 

“Simpson, look in the recorded box. They might 
be there, of course — if they were ever left here. We 
never lose papers.” 

Simpson shuffled over the papers in the other box. 
“Nothing like that here, Mr. Anderson.” 

“You see, Warman, you certainly must be mistaken. 
I was sure of it, as I have a good memory, but now 
there can be no doubt. I never had any certificates 
of any Columbine lodes in my hands. I thought you 
172 


IBett <K3arman 


might possibly have left them with Simpson and he 
had forgotten. However,” he added in a friendly and 
propitiatory tone, “you can have others made out and 
bring them in to-morrow. We’ll see they are recorded 
at once.” 

“Mighty funny about them originals.” Ben was 
not of a suspicious nature and the idea that there 
might be something crooked did not suggest itself 
to his mind. “But I’ll have new ones made out — this 
afternoon.” 

Ben was fortunate in finding Surveyor McCoy in 
his office — a big, six-foot, smooth-faced, sandy-haired, 
good-natured man who stood square on his feet and 
looked his man straight in the eye. In the course 
of half an hour a new set of certificates were made 
out, signed and were ready for record. Ben secured 
the Professor’s and Rose’s signatures without enter- 
ing into details. He could legally have subscribed 
their names himself but preferred they should know. 

The Professor and Ben, however, entered into a 
discussion of some length regarding the work at the 
mine, particularly with reference to the finances. They 
were nearing the end of their slender resources. 

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” inelegantly remarked Ben 
as he looked at his watch after a time. “Four o’clock 
and a little after.” He took his departure abruptly. 
“Got time enough yet,” he remarked to himself lazily 
as he proceeded slowly on his way, his thoughts on 
a pair of dark eyes he had recently looked into. 
“They’re usually open till five.” 

But when he arrived at the office to his surprise 
he found it closed. It was locked and no one about. 
After waiting half an hour he became impatient. 
“This is gettin’ a trifle monotoneous, uz Dan ’ud say. 
Seems like I can’t get anything done at this office. 
Want tuh get this finished up tuhday. I’ll round 
up them office sharps.” 


173 


OBctt ©Harman 


Within five minutes after Ben had left the recorder’s 
office after his first visit Anderson had given the 
information to Conley in person in his private office. 
Conley scowled darkly. 

“Wonder what put him up to looking after them 
to-day.” His meditation was short lived. “But I 
played for this chance. I’m fixed for him. To-mor- 
row he can record a book full of them if he wants 
to,” he went on grimly, “but how do you know he 
won’t come back this afternoon with his new certifi- 
cates? If McCoy is in town — and he is — they can get 
new ones made out in half an hour. For that matter 
Warman could do it himself without the surveyor. 
That’s the reason I didn’t send McCoy out some- 
where on a wild goose chase.” 

Anderson’s mind slowly reverted to the question. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Then you stay here until after office hours. Send 
word at once by messenger to Simpson to close up and 
lock up and get away and stay out of sight the rest of 
the day and night.” 

“But it ain’t four o’clock yet.” 

“What the hell do I care about that?” snapped Con- 
ley blackly. “Shut up the shop and your face and 
be damned quick about it too.” 

Anderson despatched a messenger forthwith. Mean- 
while another messenger made his way swiftly to 
Trixie Howard. Idly seated in a luxurious lounging 
chair she slit open the note which she had been warned 
to expect. She read: 

“He is here. While suspecting nothing he is in- 
tending to file new certificates to-day or to-night some- 
time before twelve. Has them in his pocket. He 
must not do so. After twelve o’clock all will be safe. 
We are depending on you now. Get him at once. 
Get the papers from him if you can without his know- 

174 


TSen ©Harman 


ing it. At all events, keep him with you till twelve. 
Act quick. 

Bart.” 

Ten minutes later the messenger thrust a note into 
Ben Warman’s hand as he met Dick Grant on the street 
and was about to inquire of him whether he had seen 
Anderson or Simpson about town. 

“Excuse me a minute, Dick, while I read this.” Ben 
was progressing in politeness. He read and the first 
word caused him to start and give a low whistle: 

“George. — I have been here several weeks. Can’t 
wait any longer to see you. Come at once. This min- 
ute. Last house west end Miner street. 

Trixie.” 

Another whistle in crescendo greeted the signature 
and Ben repeated the name in a low voice uncon- 
sciously. Had he not done so the pages of this story 
must have been differently written. Dick Grant’s 
sensitive ear caught the name — and he wondered. But 
as Ben offered no comment he did not feel free to do 
so and did not express the curiosity he felt at Ben’s 
acquaintance with the adventuress. 

“If I see Anderson or Simpson anywhere I’ll let 
you know, Ben.” 

“All right, Dick,” was Ben’s absentminded response. 

As he passed along the sidewalk an uncontrollable 
impulse caused Dick to turn his head. He saw Ben 
Warman turning the corner down Miner street. 


175 


CHAPTER XXI 


DAN GETS INTO ACTION 

At nine o’clock on the evening of September six- 
teenth Dan Drillard and Rud Burns were playing 
seven-up with a greasy deck by the flaring light of 
a candle stuck to the table by its own tallow, when 
the sound of hoofs aroused them. 

“Hello, Ben’s back earlier ’un he thought he’d be,” 
Dan was saying to Rud as he opened the door to greet 
his partner. 

“That you, Drillard ?” hailed a voice that was 
strange and a man Dan did not know sat on a horse in 
the clear moonlight. 

“Yep, what’s wanted?” Dan leaned carelessly with 
his right shoulder against the right side of the door- 
way, his right arm inside. That arm reached slowly 
up along the wall and when it dropped back to his 
side his horny hand held the big butt of a Forty- 
five. 

“Nuthin’ wanted b’me, ’cept to deliver this here note. 
That’s what Warman paid me fur.” He handed down 
a piece of paper, wheeled his horse and was gone. 

Dan read as follows: 

“Danny. You and Rud lock things up safe and 
come to town at once. You’ll find me at the Pacific, 
where I’ll be waiting for you. Bring my big gun, and 
put on your irons. There’s a fight cornin’ on and I 
may need you if the odds are too big. 


176 


Ben. 


15en SxHarmatt 


“Well, I’m damned !” was Dan’s pious exclamation 
as he passed the note to Rud. “It’s a fight, eh? Me 
un’ yu added tuh Ben is ekul tuh any half dozen 
other wooden men they cun stand up in Diorite. Are 
yuh game?” 

“Game?” sneered Rud. “If the loikes uh ye keeps 
up wid me y’u’ll be in on the foight; if ye don’t ye 
won’t.” 

They had been clapping on their hats, strapping 
on belts and guns as they spoke and when they stood 
ready they would have given an empty arsenal a fur- 
nished appearance. Turning quickly, they bumped 
into each other. Rud’s fighting spirit working within 
turned upon his partner. “Yu take up a hell uv a 
lot av room.” 

“I’m a hell of a man,” snapped Dan.' “Come on. 
Get the hell out uh here.” 

In ten minutes they were half way through the 
blazed trail, ten minutes more well on the road, Dan 
riding Ginger, Rud hanging to a strap on the saddle, 
running lightly and tirelessly alongside. 

“Whoa!” whooped Dan suddenly and pulled Ginger 
to a full stop. 

“Phat the divil’s the mather now ?” demanded Rud. 
“Ye must uh had uh thought an’ it’s stoppin’ wid ye, 
it is. I know yuh’re almost afoot when yuh’re ridin’ 
that plug, but ye might as well stay on. I don’t want 
to ride, I’m in a hurry.” 

“Durn the luck. Furgot two things I allers car- 
ries with me; chawin’ terbaccer un’ muh roomatiz 
ile. They don’t hev muh brands ut the Diorite stores.” 

“Chawin’ terbaccer ! Seein’ y’u usin’ ut I’d be after 
callin’ ut eatin’ terbaccer. Air ye goin’ back fur 
thim?” 

“Shore. I’m mean uz a dog in dog days ’thout ’em. 
I won’t indulge in no precrastination in muh move- 
ments none. I’ll be back afore yuh know ut.” 

1 77 


■Ben ©Hannan 


‘‘I’ll be after waitin’ fur ye here, Danny.” 

As Dan was about to emerge from the timber next 
the clearing occupied by the cabin he saw to his amaze- 
ment in the clear moonlight a half dozen men near the 
shaft, preparing location stakes and notices to be 
posted. He recognized Shifty Sam and the man who 
had delivered the alleged note from Ben; bogus he 
now saw it was and the presence of the men ex- 
plained its purpose. 

“Jumpers !” he breathed hoarsely to himself and 
drew his two Forty-fives. His first thought was to 
hold possession, the proverbial nine points of the law. 
He could easily get the drop on them, but they were 
too numerous ta hold under his muzzle long. Under 
cover of another one would get him. Then he heard 
voices. 

“Well, she’s getting along nicely.” It was Shifty 
Sam speaking to a man in a corduroy suit as they 
sauntered between Dan and the men at work. “Yes, 
sir, Colvert, we’ve got everything ready to put up. 
We’ll start this ten foot discovery shaft right after 
midnight. It’s leached and soft picking.” 

“All right,” rejoined Colvert, “then it will be for me 
and Conley to get the location certificates on record 
to-morrow. We’ll get busy at twelve, when the last 
hour of Warman’s sixty days is up. He’ll certainly 
be surprised when he sees that he has no location 
certificates on record and that we have legally located 
the claims. I’ll be going down before midnight, though, 
and want you to see that everything is finished up in 
good shape just as I have planned. It’s all prepared.” 

“Conley’s interests are my interests and she’ll be 
done right.” 

Dan, his ears stretched until they felt like immense, 
projecting appendages, heard every word; he ab- 
sorbed it as a prospector coming out of the desert 
takes in fresh spring water. Every syllable was 
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T5en iKJarmatt 


branded on his brain parchment indelibly. “Thet’s 
the idee, is ut?” he muttered. “Yuh cun keep pos- 
session, damn y’ur onory hides.” He looked at his 
watch. “Ten-fifteen. We’ll postpone this here lit- 
tle surprise party un’ pull ut off at Diorite.” 

Soon he was deep in the trees and weaving his way 
rapidly along the blazed trail. “Ginger, we’re goin’ 
tuh go some un’ we don’t stop fur no Irishman ur 
any uther refreshments on the way. Yes, sir; thur’s 
goin’ tuh be a cataclasm. I’ll be a climbin’ Ben’s 
frame ’ith this news ’bout eleven o’clock. One hour 
tuh git them certificates on file. 

“The sonavagun!” The words spat forth. “He 
niver even hisitated. He’s crazy ; plumb, shtark, 
shtarin’, ridin’ crazy!” ejaculated Rud as he watched 
a shaggy pony and a bushy rider disappear down the 
road. Philosophically he trudged on, whistling “Where 
the River Shannon Flows.” 

Dan flung himself from Ginger’s reeking sides in 
front of the Pacific, entered quickly and asked Hank 
Gibbs for Ben. 

“N-n-not here,” was the response. 

“It’s purty late but I’ll try the Professor’s,” Dan 
muttered as he sped out. The Graham house was dark 
and silent, nevertheless he rapped. “Can’t overlook 
any bets to-night,” he breathed into his whiskers. 

The astonished Professor listened to Dan’s abrupt 
demand for knowledge of the whereabouts of Ben. 
Dan was gone the instant he heard the Professor’s 
negative. To the Palace saloon he ran, unmindful of 
several pedestrians who were rude enough to get in 
his way and be precipitated from the sidewalk. Con- 
ley would be watching, no doubt, he thought, to see 
if he came down in response to the bogus note. It 
would be a good idea, he reasoned, to go in and show 
himself. They would then think their plan working 
successfully and he in ignorance of the jumping of 
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'Ben IflJatman 


the claims. That impression might be to Ben’s ad- 
vantage. 

His squinting gaze made sure that Conley was no- 
ticing him and again he was off. Flying along the 
street toward the Adder he collided with and lifted 
bodily from the ground a slight form that squirmed 
and kicked, though he grimly held it up. 

“What the hell!” came in vigorous tones and Dan 
gasped as he set Dick Grant back on terra firma. 
“Just the man I want — but one, Dick. That one’s 
Ben. Quick, help me find ’im. He ain’t at the Pa- 
cific, the Palace or at Graham’s ; so where in — Dio- 
rite is he? I’ve got tuh find ’im. The claims is in 
danger.” 

Dick’s mind flew back instantaneously to the note 
from Trixie Howard. Being at none of the other 
places Dick knew that Ben was still at Miner street 
and even in the excitement of the moment he was 
conscious of a keen disappointment and regret on 
Ben’s account. But time was precious. 

“Dan, go to the last house on the north side, west 
end of Miner street. A woman named Trixie How- 
ard lives there. You’ll find Ben there. Don’t let 
anybody stop you. Break in if necessary, but reach 
him.” 

“Ain’t I ben a reachin’ fur ’im fur seven miles? 
Guess I won’t stop at no door.” 

Dick noticed as the old miner turned that two 
young cannon flopped at his hips. 


180 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE LURE 

As Ben Warman strode down Miner street after 
leaving Dick Grant his thoughts were busy with the 
past and the present was completely forgotten. Those 
had been wild days in the Black Hills ; foolish, happy, 
careless, devil-may-care days. He was then tasting 
freedom and youth to the full. How well he now 
recalled the reckless happiness, drinking the wine of 
life — full, glowing, sensuous life! And Trixie How- 
ard had been the glorious, young Bacchante of many 
of its revels. How bright, bold, sparkling a creature 
she had been. 

“I’ll go and see her for a few minutes, anyway,’’ 
he thought. “She can’t be nuthin’ to me now un’ I’ll 
make that plain to ’er ; I’ll be honest with ’er ; but it’ll 
do no harm to talk with ’er a while.” 

In the bygone years his young heart had been fas- 
cinated with her and no less had she been captivated 
with him; with his boyish sunniness, his splendid 
young figure and phenomenal strength and dexterity. 
That was five years ago. How had time dealt with 
her, he wondered. This was the question in his mind 
when he stepped through the doorway into the hall 
opening into the front room where Trixie awaited him 
in the subdued light, cool and pleasant, it seemed 
to him, after the bright light of the street. 

She stood before him arrayed in a dark-red house 
gown edged about the neck and wrists with white, 
delicate lace, her midnight hair gathered on the top 
of her shapely head. The girlish figure he had known 


“Ben fKHanttan 


was now magnificently developed, her eyes displayed 
expectation and in their black depths gleams of laugh- 
ter, pleasure and magnetism flashed. Her complexion, 
naturally fine, skillfully and only slightly assisted by 
art, was vivid ; the white of brow and teeth and neck 
against the tint of cheek and red of parted lips, bril- 
liant. In the illusive light she presented an alluring 
picture. 

She saw her idol of past days, the golden-haired 
boy, now a lithe, lean, bronzed man whose eyes, of 
the same old, deep, electrical blue, thrilled her as she 
looked. 

“Trixie!” he exclaimed, taking her impetuously of- 
fered hands and studying her face as it was lifted 
laughingly up at his, “the same madcap witch of Dead- 
wood days ! The same and yet — not quite the same. 
The girl I knew is sure a woman now. How are you, 
little one — and not so little either,” he concluded, 
glancing at her full, curved figure. 

She led him to a seat. “They call you Ben War- 
man here, but you’re George Randall to me. I can’t 
tell you how happy I am to see you again — George. I 
thought we had lost each other forever. And to 
think that we allowed ourselves to simply drift apart 
out of each other’s life.” 

“You’ve heard all about me around here,” he an- 
swered, “tell me something about yourself. Have 
yuh — are yuh ” 

What an odd thing that he should feel a trifle of 
embarrassment at the final word: “prospering”? Or 
that he should be disconcerted at the thought of the 
ways of her prosperity. Of old such things had not 
bothered him in the least. 

“Oh, I’ve done well enough, George.” He smiled 
at the name. “I’m pretty well fixed. I invested in 
good, dividend-paying Black Hills mining stock. I’m 
still — expert with the cards and — there are plenty 
182 


15 en barman 


of easy victims everywhere, Diorite included,” she re- 
joined merrily. 

How strange that this last should fall disagreeably 
on his ears. He might have known it, though, he 
thought, had he stopped to reason on her future from 
her past. It was inevitable that she should have fol- 
lowed along the path and developed along the old 
lines. Of course. “Why,” he asked himself, “should 
I feel queer about it?” It was certainly true that a 
momentary feeling of repugnance came over him at the 
idea. However, he could have no repugnance as to 
her — that was hardly possible and yet — no — she was 
certainly a gloriously attractive woman. 

The trend of his thoughts was suddenly slanted 
otherwise by a quick reference by Trixie to an event 
in the old days which touched his sense of humor and 
brought back the past with startling vividness and 
present reality; now that she was again before him 
in flesh and blood. They were soon recalling inci- 
dent after incident of those feverish, golden days in 
the Black Hills. Time sped rapidly. They were both 
genuinely surprised to hear the house woman an- 
nounce that dinner would be ready in twenty min- 
utes. 4 

“Excuse me, George, I want a few moments now 
before dinner,” Trixie suddenly exclaimed and flashed 
smilingly away. 

It seemed but a moment to Ben, immersed in reverie, 
his thoughts milling over the past, until she reap- 
peared clothed in decollete dinner attire of pure black ; 
arms, neck and shoulders like warm marble. 

“Welcome to my humble board,” she swept him a 
low, laughing curtsy with the words, as invitation to 
the dining-room adjacent. The shades had been drawn, 
a large becrystaled lamp hung from the ceiling; an- 
other, shaded in deep red material that filtered the 
light to wine-hue to match the rubies that gleamed 

183 


T5en OJatman 


from a cut-glass decanter, stood on the further comer 
of a table white with the finest of linen, upon which 
bright silverware lay flashing. It had been years 
since Ben had seen such luxury and longer since he 
had come in contact with it. 

In low, exultant tones, Trixie told of the eager- 
ness with which she had anticipated this. 

“I didn’t even know y’u wuz here, Trixie,” said 
Ben. 

“I learned a week or two ago that you were in the 
district but ” Swiftly again she led the conver- 

sation to the happy, free, wild days of old, of their 
first youth; and her light-hearted listener laughed 
gaily at the bright reminiscences that sprang from 
her lips, always followed by the deep, musical, gurg- 
ling laughter that he had once loved to hear and 
which even now fell upon his senses with liquid mel- 
ody. 

Thus they chatted and ate, her gaiety and anima- 
tion ever mounting, always preventing the least ces- 
sation of thought of the vivid experiences they had 
known. “As long as he is thinking of the past he 
isn’t thinking of the present,” Trixie reflected. 

She had intended and now purposed to carry out 
the designs of Conley, particularly as they coincided 
with her own desires. She had no compunction what- 
ever in depriving Warman and the Professor and — 
the girl — she set her white teeth a moment at the 
recollection of the girl — of the fortune represented 
by the copper claims. At the same time she was 
not nearly so certain of her loyalty to Conley him- 
self. As the evening progressed she felt the old, 
vital power, the almost electrical attraction, the cur- 
rent that seemed to flow again from the radiant, 
debonair personality of this man before her. In 
throwing about him the silken net woven from the 
shining threads of the past she began to find herself 
184 


15en ©Harman 


as well enmeshed in them. Her heart swelled once 
more and attuned itself to the high pitch of the love 
note. The hard, calculating, money-and-luxury-lov- 
ing philosophy she had adopted of late years fell in 
abeyance. 

She laid her hand caressingly on his as it rested 
on the table. The action instantly recalled him to the 
present. As he had studied her in the lamp light 
he had been able to trace, much better than in the 
dim, dusky light of the parlor, those changes of the 
lines and expression of the countenance that five 
years inevitably wrought. He analyzed the almost 
imperceptible alterations. On the whole, she was 
more strikingly beautiful; her figure had rounded 
voluptuously; but — something was wrong; something 
was gone that had been there; something was there 
that had not been there. 

At last he felt what it was. After the first flush 
of their greeting he had somehow got the impression, 
elusive and fleeting, but finally persistent, that she had 
lost some quality, that she was not quite the same, 
after all. Now he saw clearly that it was the kindly 
impulses of youth, the sincerity and tenderness of 
heart. And, in its place, he concluded as he continued 
to study her face and brought from her lips some- 
thing of her experiences during the past few years, 
had come a heartlessness, an indifference to suffering, 
a cold, calculating caution covered by the mask of sim- 
ulation. 

“And then,” he found himself thinking, “she’s — 
she’s — coarse.” 

And instantly it smote him — the standard by which 
he was judging her — the face of Rose Graham with 
its modesty, its girlish womanliness, its refinement and 
truth. 

All this had flashed through his mind almost instan- 
taneously and he withdrew his hand involuntarily from 

185 


15en Mlatman 


the contact with hers. Slight as the movement was, 
Trixie Howard intuitively felt its meaning. The first 
illusion was wearing off. His eyes looked into hers 
without the leaping up of glad response. He was 
slipping away. She seized the wine decanter and 
poured a deep draught into a delicate-stemmed glass 
and then filled another. Ben took his unaware that 
it held a potion. 

Unaided by some further agency she would fail, 
and she realized this to the depths of her being, both 
in reasserting her hold upon him and in keeping him 
the required length of time. The words of Conley 
rang in her ears: “Maybe you can’t do it; maybe 
he’s out of your reach.” The cutting sentences came 
to her as a new and fierce incentive. It was not of 
Conley she thought now ; this was now her own battle. 
She was swept with a mighty longing to reclaim a 
heart ; the only heart she had ever valued for itself ; 
the only real love she had ever known. The semi- 
respectable, calloused, money existence she had con- 
templated with Conley now sickened her in the mere 
suggestion. 

She had caught a vision of the radiant past, of the 
glorious youth that had been hers, of a real passion 
and she was now fighting her last fight to retain that 
all but lost essence of a younger, finer state. If she 
could but win again this vital, strong, buoyant, young 
life, a heart uncorroded, the future might not only be 
respectable but have in it soul, hope, real happiness. 
Conley sank from her mind save that in the back- 
ground of her thoughts he stalked as a grim and 
now dread alternative. Her inward excitement added 
luster to her brilliant eyes. 

“Drink!” she cried, lifting her glass high with white, 
round molded arm, “drink to the past — and — our fu- 
ture — together.” 

“Trixie,” he responded, “that past must be, it is 
1 86 


13 cn JKJarman 


dead. Our future can’t be together. But I drink 
t’yuh un’ t’y’ur good fortune.” 

They quaffed and she answered good naturedly: 
“Not together? Tm sorry our trails must part again.” 
Then she concluded with coquettish defiance, “But 
I’m not so sure of that.” 

The dinner was drawing to a close and the tiny 
gold timepiece on the mantel struck eleven in silvery 
notes. The hours had sped with amazing swiftness. 
The ruddiness and richness of the copious draughts 
of wine that followed in rapid succession, as she 
feverishly proposed toast after toast, began to flush 
her face and enrich the velvet of her eyes. Ben sud- 
denly found his own blood leaping in his veins. The 
potion was now doing its work swiftly. It held no 
harm save that it fired the blood and woke to life 
every fiber of his body as if it had been pure oxygen. 
Naturally virile, pulsing with energy, his long ab- 
stinence from all dissipation, even drink, all excite- 
ment and pleasure, hardened and powerful from 
physical work, he was as a dry prairie prepared for 
the flames. The elixir, whatever it was, set every 
nerve tingling, it flashed from the deep blue of his 
eyes, it moved in his deep drawn breaths. 

The wine, the white table linen, the red-shaded, 
tinted lights, the black and white and red of the 
woman before him, pulsating, throbbing with warm 
life, all merged into a picture irresistibly fascinating. 
His senses swam with the brilliancy and fire, the 
softness, the warmth and glowing beauty of it all. One 
fleeting thought came — of the long hours, days, weeks, 
months of restraint, self-control, of victory over him- 
self ; of the hard won ground he had gained — came 
and went so quickly as to leave him more deeply 
absorbed in the present than before, as the darkness 
is denser after the lightning flash. 

The time had come for her supreme effort. She 
187 


TSen C&arman 


I 

now realized that she had the true happiness of her 
own future at stake. Rising quickly she glided be- 
hind him, wine glass in hand, and softly stretched her 
warm, white arm over his shoulder, her head dropped 
forward and inclined, her breath upon his neck and 
then upon his cheek as she looked into his eyes that 
had turned to hers as the magnetic needle to the 
pole. 

“See/’ she whispered sibilantly, “the wine! It is 
like life — with love ; rich — like the blood in our veins ; 
flushed — as the cheeks that press ; red — as the 
lips that cling; liquid — as the eyes that melt into 
yours ; sweet — as the caress that thrills ; fiery — with 
the spirit of life; blazing — as the passion that 
burns !” 

“You siren — you witch!” he murmured hoarsely, 
intensely, his hands clenched, his teeth set. 

“Look !” Her low, insistent, pulsing voice was like 
the roaring of waves in his ears. “It is a picture of 
life and love and happiness. What does it mean? 
What does it not mean — to us ! It was once ours and 
can be again, more glorious than ever. It tells us 
to live, live richly, live splendidly, live wondrously! 
Drink!” 

And she gently pressed the glass into his hand, 
leaning until her weight was upon his shoulders, lean- 
ing until he felt her breast heaving with the long 
breaths of unsimulated fire and emotion, leaning until 
to support herself she curved one bare arm about his 
neck. He drank hastily, recklessly ; and as he took the 
glass and drank Trixie deftly slipped from the inside 
pocket of his open coat the certificates it had exposed 
and thrust them with one movement deep into her 
bodice. It was recklessly done and succeeded because 
of its audacity. A flame of half satisfied ferocity 
swept her as she felt that she was depriving that 
girl and her father of a probable fortune. Money! 

1 88 


15ett (KHarman 


It was a mighty factor. But her act was giving back 
to her, as she thought, this man! 

He drank fiercely, his senses swimming, his pulse 
afire, the repressed strength and passion of months 
throbbing in his arteries and beating in his brain ; the 
velvet eyes looked deeply into his, intoxicating in 
themselves ; the touch of her arm about his neck was 
maddening, the pressure of her body unbearable. 

‘‘HeU’s fire !” burst from his tense lips as he sprang 
to his feet, grasping the encircling, soft arm with his 
hot hand with ruthless strength. The glass fell upon 
the table, red wine splashed heedlessly upon the white 
cloth, his chair toppled to the floor. His eyes blazed 
savagely, masterfully into hers. 

“You beautiful devil !” 

The crush of his mighty arms all but drove breath 
from her body. 

“Thash right, thash right,” bfoke upon them in in- 
coherent, maudlin tones. “ ’Gree ’ith you.” 

In the doorway Gerald Lorimer, swaying, blinked 
at them in drunken protest. “But what devil you 
doin’ here ?” he demanded, trying to straighten up and 
glare at Ben. 

The dark brows of Trixie drew to a black line as 
she sprang free and advanced upon the intruder. 
“You drunken fool, you contemptible weakling, what 
do you mean by coming in here this way, or at all, 
curse you?” she demanded fiercely. 

“Shought I’d make — make a call, m’lady; didn’t 
know you had corn-company; shought Warman wush 
up to — to — Graham’s,” he leered, winding up with a 
hiccough, as he eyed them unsteadily. 

“Throw him out,” hissed Trixie to Ben. It was an 
unnecessary direction as he had already taken a long 
step in the direction of the artist the moment he had 
spoken the name — Graham. But even as she spoke 
and he started there came a crashing and stomping 
189 


15en (KHarman 


in the hallway, and Lorimer was almost thrown to 
the floor by a man hatless, dust-covered and heavily 
armed, who sprang into the room. 

Trixie now fairly sparkled with rage. “Who are 
you? What do you want? Speak quick.” Her white 
teeth fairly bit the words off. 

“Dan!” cried Ben, in amazement, “Dan, where’d 
y’u come from? What yuh mean a breakin’ in here 
thisaway?” The light in his eyes demanded quick 
explanation. 

“No time tuh explain everything, Ben. I want yuh 
un’ I want yuh bad.” Dan spoke directly to Ben, 
ignoring the others. “Thur’s hell tuh pay onless y’u 
move like lightnin’. They’re jumpin’ y’ur claims. 
Shifty Sam, a man in a corduroy suit called Colvert; 
Conley’s in on the deal. Started me and Rud down 
here on a bogus note from you. I happened tuh go 
back fur somthin’ un’ saw ’em; heard ’em talk. On- 
less yuh git y’ur certificates on record afore twelve 
y’ur a goner.” 

Like a picture on a canvas is revealed in every de- 
tail, so the entire plot was instantaneously imaged on 
Ben’s mind. The potion had fired his brain as well 
as his body and his thoughts flashed with the rapidity 
of lightning: Lorimer’s presence, Lorimer, the vic- 
tim of the gang and “the woman” — no less a person 
than Trixie Howard — the man who had first knowledge 
of his claims ; the mining engineer and the card-case 
found on the lead; Shifty Sam, Colvert, alias Travers, 
Conley, his relentless enemy ; Anderson and his failure 
to record the certificates; the closed office — all flashed 
upon his mind and made a complete picture. It was 
now as clear as a shadow in the noonday sun. 

And Trixie Howard! Was she in the plot? This 
very night, the last day and night, when the claims 
were being jumped, she had chosen this day and night 
to send for him and hold him. His failure to get 
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T5en OJarman 


his second certificates recorded during that day, the 
lateness of the hour, all pointed to a designed interfer- 
ence with his movements. 

His brain cleared for action. Jerking out his watch, 
not relying on the mantel timepiece for fear of more 
trickery, he noted that it was eleven-thirty. He thrust 
his hand into his inside coat pocket. The certificates 
were not there. He had lost for himself, and more, 
for the Professor and — Rose, the great mine! 

But now a gleam of recollection shot through his 
rapidly working mind on the very heels of the des- 
perate thought that he had been trapped, that he had 
been faithless to a trust and — to her ! A short, hard, 
mirthless laugh, cynical, sardonic, came from his lips. 
A terrible passion replaced the one he had known a 
few moments before. The gleam of recollection grew 
clear and definite in one intense moment. Two steps 
brought him to the side of the woman who stood silent 
in nervous trepidation at this crashing of her plans 
at the last moment, but still feeling secure at the 
thought that she had the certificates which alone could 
save the night for Warman — and — the girl! She 
would disclaim all knowledge of them and he would 
never know. Her part would remain concealed. 

When he had clasped her to him he had heard the 
crackling of paper — his certificates — as he supposed, in 
his own pocket ; but they were not in his pocket hence 
— a glance confirmed his suspicions. His eyes pierced 
hers like bolts of blue. Grasping her again by that 
white arm, and ruthless indeed was now that grasp, 
he thrust his other hand, before she could surmise 
his daring purpose, beneath her bodice. When it was 
withdrawn it held the papers before the eyes of all; 
before her eyes, the black orbs which now flashed 
with a different passion also; flashed with anger, de- 
fiance and seething hatred. For in that instant she 
knew she had lost forever. Her conscience died, her 
191 


13en (UJarmatt 


whole being atrophied, her every impulse hardened, 
her youth vanished, she became one with Conley. 

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” And 
scorned for faithlessness, scorned for deceit, scorned 
for treachery, scorned as one who preys for money 
upon one whom she had loved — scorned utterly she 
knew she was. 

Thrusting the documents into his pockets with no 
word, no sound save bitter laughter, cold and hard, 
he leaped at Dan, jerked his own gun from his part- 
ner’s belt and sprang through the outer door. 

“Eleven-thirty,” said Colvert, who had just ar- 
rived from the claims, in a significant tone as he 
snapped his watch shut and lighted a cigar. He 
stretched back in an easy chair in Conley’s saloon 
office which adjoined the end of the bar. Conley 
sat at his desk. “Everything’s arranged. Here are 
the certificates for the Record claims. Sometime 
after midnight, when we’re sure the work is finished 
up there, we’ll record them. We’ve got sixty days 
to do this in but there’s nothing like getting every- 
thing complete while you’re at it — as Warman will 
find out. Where’s Anderson?” 

“Up in my private room and he stays right there 
until we’re ready for him. After he goes to the of- 
fice and records our certificates he can go where he 
damn pleases. We’ll have turned the trick.” 

They sat and talked of future plans, occasionally 
glancing at a clock. 

A side entrance opened on a stairway leading to 
the hall above the saloon, from which opened the 
door of Conley’s private rooms. Here Anderson sat 
reading, his back to the door. When it suddenly 
opened he looked at his watch without turning his 
head. 

“Ain’t time yet, is it Bart?” 

“Yes, it’s time,” came in a quiet, metallic voice. 

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T5en JKUarman 


Before Anderson turned he was conscious of a chill 
that rippled down his back and made his flesh to 
cringe and crawl. When his head finally came around 
he saw a Forty-five gun presented at him. Back of 
it stood Warman, his eyes glittering, boring him stead- 
ily. 

“Git up. Put y’ur hat on. Walk careful. Make 
no noise. Keep a walkin’ till y’u git t’y’ur office. When 
yuh arrive there y’u’ll find me just three feet back 
o’ yuh. Don’t furgit that — un this.” The muzzle 
lifted and fell slowly. 

Anderson saw and felt the deadly menace in Ben 
Warman’s quiet tones. Men had been shot on sight 
for less treachery and dishonesty than he had been 
guilty of. He had violated the sacred right of the 
miner. They would approve. His red face turned 
pale, the purple nose changing to a dark, muddy 
hue. Like a man in a trance he obeyed. They passed 
down the hallway and the stairs and out on the street. 
On the sidewalk at the foot of the stairs, on guard, 
Dan was waiting. 

When the two men appeared he followed at a dis- 
tance of twenty feet. Few pedestrians were about 
and those who passed the little tense procession of 
three noticed nothing unusual — knew not that the 
slightest movement to break its regularity and pur- 
pose meant instant death to one. 

Colvert and Conley, a half hour later, ascended the 
stairs to the private room. 

“Y’u’re here alright, I see,” said Conley. “Put on 
your hat and we’ll go over to the office and record 
these certificates of the Record claims.” 

At last Anderson found his voice. “I just came 
from there.” 

“What do you mean?” grated Conley, fixing his 
burning eyes on the putty face before him. 

“I mean,” said Anderson in desperation, moisten- 

193 


15cn MJarman 


ing his lips with a heavy tongue, ‘‘that I just finished 
recording the Columbine claims at the point of a gun 
in the hands of Warman.” 

“Hell!” burst savagely from Conley’s snarling lips. 
Colvert started forward. 

“He told me to tell you,” Anderson went on dog- 
gedly, “that he would settle with you later. Also to 
give his compliments and the same message to Travers 
— I think he meant you, Colvert.” 

A sudden flash of fear appeared in the eyes of 
the fox-faced man. 

With a violent effort Conley suppressed a snarl of 
rage. But the look in the deep, fire-lit eyes — the eyes 
no man in that section could meet and bear save the 
electrical blue eyes of Ben Warman — was not pleasant 
to see. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


“try again” 

With her jeweled hands clenched Trixie Howard 
sat immovable for a time, paced the floor for an- 
other period, then threw herself on a couch only to 
rise again and renew her restless pacings to and 
fro. 

The door again opened and closed, without the 
warning of a knock, she heard a quick, firm tread and 
Ben Warman stood before her. She returned his 
gaze defiantly. 

“I didn't have time tuh tell you what I thought uh 
yuh,” he said slowly and quietly. As if in confirma- 
tion the tiny, gold clock on the mantel struck the 
hour of twelve. “The certificates,” he continued in 
even tones, “y’u stole from me are now recorded. Ef 
y’u hadn't taken the certificates from me I might’ve 
thought they just used yuh for a tool unknowin' ; but 
the papers bein’ took by y’u shows y’u knew all about 
ut and done ut deliberate in worse’en cold blood. 

“Yuh tried tuh beat me un’ others out uv a for- 
tune un’ give ut tuh Conley. Y’u’re a treacherous 
she-devil uz tried tuh use the good in yuh, ur what’s 
left uv ut, tuh rob me un’ muh friends. Ut wuz a 
part uh y’ur old self that yuh used tuh keep me here 
un’ make me furgit muh duty. Y’u’re not the Trixie 
Howard I knew. Y’u’ve developed intuh a hard, cal- 
calatin’, money- lovin’ woman, jest such a woman uz 
Conley is uh man ; un’ that’s what y’u’ll be and stay. I 
— I don’t jest understand how yuh worked y’ur spell 
on me to-night.” 


195 


IBcn iHJarmatt 


“Oh, I don’t care now if you know,” Trixie re- 
plied, her self-command regained even as the slow, 
cold, biting words fell upon her ears — and sank deep. 
“I doped you on that first glass of wine. I saw you 
slipping away from me. I don’t mind telling you, 
either, though you may think differently, that while 
I was carrying out Conley’s plans in keeping you till 
midnight, that that was not the reason I tried to be 
the old Trixie Howard — or rather — the young Trixie 
again.” There came a quick change of expression 
from a momentary musing to hardness and defiance. 
“Now and forever it is Conley and money — luxury. 
When I saw you slipping away I used the drug which 
I had all ready in case need should arise. So, you 
needn’t blame yourself overmuch — she’ll probably for- 
give you,” she laughed in sarcastic mockery. Her fate 
being now inevitable she would make the most of it. 
The calculating element was gaining full ascendency 
now. 

Ben regarded her steadily some moments before he 
spoke. “She might — and probably would if she knew 
all the facts; but she’ll never hear the dope story 
from me. I come here voluntary — un’ stayed; that’s 
all thur is t’ut. Yes, she might — but I’ll never furgive 
muhself. If wuz a long slip back. I nearly lost the 
property fur’ em un’ — broke muh promise.” 

“Your promise? To her, to Rose Graham. She’s 
reforming you, I understand. You! No more gamb- 
ling, no more drinking, no more fighting, no more 
love making ! Bah !” And she gave a sharp, cynical 
staccato laugh. 

He flushed. “No, muh promise tuh muhself. It 
shows I’m fur from bein’ a man yet. But I’m a 
tellin’ yuh right now thet I will be. Yuh hear me?” 
he demanded. 

His declaration seemed to sting her to the quick. 
“Ben Warman, since George Randall has passed. 
196 


"Ben (KHarmatt 


away,” Trixie flashed suddenly, “I hate you and I 
hate that girl. I give you fair warning here and 
now that I shall keep you from her and you shall not 
reform. You shall gamble and drink and fight and 
love. You shall, you shall! You shall never have her. 
The first blow only has been struck in this fight. 
You will find that I am as strong in hate now as I 
was in love before. You shall suffer and you will 
know that it is Trixie Howard that makes you suf- 
fer. Now go.” 

Listlessly, his face revealing a bitter introspection, 
he went nor turned nor thought of the woman he was 
leaving. It was of himself, of his fault, his care- 
lessness, above all his unfaithfulness to his new reso- 
lutions and his love for Rose Graham that he thought. 
And bitter as gall were his meditations. With self- 
contempt he recalled his words to Dick Grant con- 
cerning Gerald Lorimer: “A woman! And he in 
love with Rose Graham?” Trixie Howard ground 
her white teeth as she saw that even before he stepped 
through the doorway she was out of his mind. 

A few minutes later at the Pacific Dan, Rud, who 
had at length arrived, and Dick Grant took turns in 
wringing Ben’s hand and congratulating him on his 
final success. “It shore didn’t take yuh long tuh git 
intuh action,” Dan chuckled. 

“A close call, Ben, but all’s well that ends well,” 
was Dick’s comment. There seemed to be a puzzled 
regret of some kind in his tone. 

“Faith an’ it’s ye as is the lucky bye, Ben, fur ut 
wuz Danny’s eatin’ terbaccer and rheumatiz ile thet 
turned the thrick. Inyways it turned Danny back 
un’ put him ontuh the game. The dirty salpeens! 
I’ll bet they’re so sore now thur hair hurts 
thim.” 

“But how did you know where to git Anderson, 
Ben?” asked Dan. 


197 


'Ben GtJarman 


“Jest brains, Dan. It wuz easy ’nough after I saw 
the plot and hitched up Conley and Anderson in the 
thing. A good guess.” 

Bitter dejection, rather than elation, was apparent 
in Ben’s manner and Dick thought he understood. Ben 
continued presently : “Don’t give me any credit, boys. 
I don’t deserve any. I’m the one that got things in 
danger. You boys saved the claims. But we ain’t 
through yet. They’ll file thur certificate jest the same. 
They’re in possession un’ it’s fur us to fight un’ take 
the claims back ’ith guns — ur the law. Ef we want 
possession right now quick we’ve got to smash law in 
the face.” 

“Law, law!” snorted Dan. “It’ll take five years ef 
y’u win afore y’u cun send up a sheriff with un elo- 
cution tuh throw ’em off. What we wants is a im- 
mejut remedy un’ I’m votin’ fur Mr. Savage fur 
Sheriff and Mr. Colt fur depety. Dang thet Conley 
un’ his gang; I w’u’dn’t trust ’em ’ith a rattlesnake uh 
mine no more ; un’ I w’u’dn’t think no more uh shootin’ 
’em down than a raptile.” There was no doubt that 
Dan Drillard was in earnest. 

“That’s piz-nous and some sultry talk but thim’s 
my sintimints,” added Rud. “The whole boonch av 
’im ought to fie sint up fur loife — twicet.” 

Dick was silent, not desiring to countenance vio- 
lence and ’lawless force. 

“Boys,” at length said Ben, “I’ll sleep over ut. In 
the mornin’ I’ll decide. It wuz gun work to-night un’ 
had a right tuh be; but I don’t know jest now ’bout 
th’other.” 

The tension being relaxed for the time being, Dan 
suggested: “We’ve got tuh celebriate this excitin’ 
ewent, anyway ; I’ve got fluctuition uh the heart ; she’s 
a rappin’ fur somethin’; think ut’s spirit rappin’s. 
Let’s have a drink. I’ll neegosheate ’ith the bar- 
keep.” 


198 


TBett JHJatman 


They filed into the barroom, where Hank Gibbs 
himself was on duty. 

“Hank, we’uns hez jest emurged from a emurgence. 
Trot out y’ur pizenist pizen un’ git in y’urself.” 

Hank, being a trifle short on regular whisky glasses 
substituted a small beer glass, which Dan happened 
to draw. 

“Uz I wuz sayin’, them fellers, Conley un’ his gang, 
hez ben tryin’ tuh deal us misery un’ grief. Thet 
man Shifty Sam is suh crooked he c’u’d sleep on a 
pretzel. Never does like ’im the fust time I sees 
’im. Don’t part his hair like a white man but like 
a Injun. Did yuh ever notice thet a fool ur a sharp 
like him un’ his hair un’ his name un’ his money is 
soon parted — in the middle?” 

In his virtuous indignation Dan absent-mindedly 
continued to pour whisky into his beer glass until it 
was nearly filled. Rud chuckled and nudged the 
boys. 

“Thet feller in the cowderoy suit is a fox ; Conley’s 
a wolf,” Dan was saying belligerently when Hank in- 
terrupted : 

“Say, Dan, w-w-wait a minute,” and he started strip- 
ping his garments, his eyes fastened on Danny’s glass. 

“Why fur, Hank?” 

“I’ll g-g-g-go in w-w-w-with yuh.” 

Dan looked blank an instant and then at his glass. 
His gradually growing chuckle developed into a roar 
that filled the room and rolled down the street. Re- 
covering, he said: 

“Thet’s on me, uz the feller said when his ’ponent 
bent a gun on his head. Un’ ut calls fur anuther.” 

They drank again and then Ben suggested : “That’ll 
be ’bout all tuhnight, boys. We’ve got work ahead uv 
us tuhmorrow.” 

“Seems like tuh me thet y’u is gettin’ mighty ab- 
steemous uh late, Ben,” Dan responded, loath to quit. 

199 


TBen tQacman 


With a martyr-like expression of obedience he con- 
cluded: “Well, I guess I’ll hev to askwhyask.” 

‘ After a sleepless night, harrowed more by con- 
sciousness of weakness, of failure, of disloyalty than 
the fact that he had almost lost the claims, which 
were not his alone to risk, to juggle, to jeopardize 
for a woman's smile, Ben had finally arrived at one 
conclusion — he would go to the Professor and ex- 
plain the entire transaction. He must make some 
explanations and it might as well be complete — all but 
the drugging. The Professor had a right to know. 

It was Saturday and the Professor was at home. 
“Prof.,” said Ben, after exchanging a good-morning, 
“last night I nearly lost the Columbines.” 

“Lost the claims!” repeated the surprised scholar, 
adjusting his glasses nervously. “And how may that 
have been?” 

Slowly, painfully, Ben related all the circumstances, 
not omitting the fact that he had been finally found 
at Trixie Howard’s. The Professor listened silently 
to the end. In a dim way he had understood that 
there was gambling going on at Miss Howard’s apart- 
ments and such was his understanding of the purport 
of Ben’s visit. “The danger to the property,” he said 
finally, “appears to me not due in any way to your 
negligence, at least in the first instance, but of the 
perfidy of the recorder, against which you had no 
reason to guard yourself, and the unknown machina- 
tions of enemies under cover.” 

“The question now is, Prof., whether to go up and 
retake possession with guns ur fight ’em in the courts. 
I’ve thought it all over un’ I vote fur guns.” 

“I must think that over,” the Professor responded 
and then called: “Rose!” Ben would have stopped 
him but it was too late. Rose came into the room 
from the kitchen, her white, soft arms bare to the 
elbow, a touch of flour on one of them, her eyes 
200 


T5en (DOarman 


laughingly lighted, her hair in a glorious disorder, 
threatening a fall and suggesting to Ben a picture in 
which she was enveloped in its wavy masses. Her 
young freshness, purity and charm seemed more pro- 
nounced than usual as she came thus from her house- 
work. Ben felt a pain tug at his heart as he looked 
at her — for now she seemed far away indeed. 

“What is this?” she asked. “A consultation of vast 
importance to the partnership? Have we opened up 
bodies of ore and is it the weight of millions that 
brings such solemn care to your faces?” 

“Not exactly, my dear, Ben will explain. Fll take 
a walk to think it over. I can always reason better 
when walking.” 

Ben started and would have detained him but he 
saw no excuse or opportunity to do so and was not 
yet sufficiently skillful in the ways of society to in- 
vent one. 

“Well, what is on the general manager’s mind?” 
Rose asked, seating herself in a rocker and brushing 
her flour flecked hands briskly together. Then she 
folded them in her lap and tilted her head slightly 
to one side, a roguish expression of inquiry on her 
mobile face. 

“Rose,” Ben began slowly, “there’s a whole lot on 
muh mind — a whole lot.” He felt another sharp pain 
as he remembered the closing moments of their last 
interview when he had poured out to her a little, just 
a little of the weight of his feelings. 

Again he explained how the property had almost 
been lost and how he had forced the recorder to 
act under the point of his gun at the last mo- 
ment. 

“It wasn’t exactly regular,” she suggested, her brows 
charmingly puckered with thought. “But it seems to 
me it was justified — after what he had done — or rather 
failed to do.” 


201 


15tn JOarman 


“That don’t bother me any,” Ben continued, his 
tones growing tense, the perspiration standing out on 
his forehead. “The property is safe, anyway, in the 
long run, but what’s a weighin’ on me is something dif- 
ferent. I’ve got tuh tell yuh,” he persevered dog- 
gedly. “I broke muh promise — tuh muhself. The 
wild blood got away with me; my will was throwed. 
When I had the time and sh’u’d’ve been lookin’ fur 
the recorder to record the second set uh certificates 
I was — I wasn’t drinkin’ un fightin’ ; I was at Trixie 
Howard’s place — yuh know ut by reputation. There’s 

private gamblin’ goin’ on there; but ” He finally 

drove himself upon the point and sank it deep, though 
beads of sweat told the story of his poignant suf- 
fering. “But I wasn’t gamblin’. I went to see her. 
I knew her in Deadwood five years ago.” 

Rose listened to the hard recital with a growing 
sense of sickness and at the conclusion her young 
heart, deeply stabbed, grew faint. But an almost 
imperceptible clenching of her hands was the only 
sign of her emotion. She could no longer say to her- 
self that her interest in this man was general, a de- 
sire to see him rise and accomplish something; the 
swift flash of jealousy was too vivid to ignore or 
deny. She now knew her interest was intensely per- 
sonal, rooted in her heart’s core. Yet that was an 
incidental, swiftly paining and passing emotion. The 
real hurt was deeper. The sense of bitter disap- 
pointment, of sorrow, of bruised love wellnigh swept 
her self-control away. 

Now he added details lifelessly as she turned her 
face away. “She sent me a note askin’ me to call. 
I didn’t know she was in town till I got the note. That 
was four o’clock yesterday afternoon. It was the first 
time I had seen ’er in five years un’ I intended to talk 
with her a few minutes; when Dan found me it was 
half-past eleven. I can’t explain it all and y’u c’u’dn’t 
202 


15en barman 


understand if I did. All I cun say is that if Dan hadn’t 
come — I’d never seen yuh again.” 

He paused a moment and then went on with tone- 
less voice. “But I’m agoin’ tuh say this : I don’t ex- 
pect yuh to believe me but I’ll prove ut in time; she 
ain’t nuthin’ to me un’ never can be. But I ain’t 
got the right to even ask fur another chance. I don’t 
deserve any.” 

He raised his eyes finally, clouded with misery, to 
hear his sentence. He could expect nothing but dis- 
dain, contempt, indignation, dismissal. Rose walked 
to the window and a long silence fell. She gazed 
out upon the mountain, up the canyon of the Lost 
Dog to where they had gone that day and sat and 
talked and hoped and laughingly formed their busi- 
ness partnership. Her heart was pierced to the very 
core. He had fallen in a way to hurt her most vi- 
tally, to inflict a most cruel and biting wound. 

She really had no claim on him, or he on her, and 
yet — and yet — she had dreamed Ben had ex- 

pressed himself vaguely and she dimly believed more 
than he had really said. Her faith was shattered. 
Yet she had known in a general way what his life had 
been before she had met him. It was not strange 
that the past should rise and try to claim him for 
its own. Its terrible tentacles must sometimes reach 
out and find him and seek to drag him back. Was her 
task hopeless? Should she wreck her young life in 
a perilous attempt to reclaim his? Was this but 
the first of a succession of failures? Was it possi- 
ble for her to endure other lacerations like this? 
There might be many more. Her reason said : “Cast 
him off.” 

She turned and looked upon him. He had told his 
- story, told it to her direct, without palliation, with- 
out excuse, without mumbling puerile, cowardly ex- 
planations. 


203 


TBen MJarmatt 


He now returned her steadfast gaze, his whole man- 
ner quietly acknowledging his failure; yet something 
else shone in the deep blue of his eyes. She came 
nearer slowly, her eyes still holding his. He stood 
up, as a prisoner condemned awaiting his sentence — a 
sentence that meant to him everything in this world. 
She came still nearer slowly until she almost touched 
him and the grave, clear eyes unflinchingly, but with 
the old question in their dark depths, looked into his 
— looked until it seemed she must see his very soul. 

Suddenly she stretched forth her hand. He caught 
his breath, grasped it convulsively as a man seizes 
the rope that draws him from the crumbling edge of 
the precipice. Dropping upon one knee he laid his 
forehead against the hand he held. He longed from 
the inmost depths of his being to kiss it, to take her 
in his arms, to explain, to pour out to her his surging 
inner thoughts, explanations, analyses, his gratitude 
and love that shook his splendid frame ;*but — the touch 
of her hand was all for him now. He was not fit — not 
fit. Another long moment he knelt and pressed his 
forehead upon her hand. Then he arose and met her 
gaze again. 

“Try again,” came in an intense whisper from the 
full, soft, firm lips. Abruptly she turned and left 
him. 


204 


CHAPTER XXIV 


IN A LAND OF MEN A REPTILE 

“You played hell holding Warman last night,” 
growled Conley as he dropped heavily into a chair at 
Trixie Howard’s. 

Trixie shrugged her shapely shoulders. “If it 
hadn’t been for Dan Drillard breaking in here bodily 
I would have held him. That fool Lorimer first strayed 
in, so drunk that he scarcely knew what he was doing 
but I could have thrown him out easily enough.” She 
then described Drillard’s entry and repeated his story. 

“We thought they didn’t come back but it’s a cer- 
tainty they did, or one of them, and from his story 
that was Drillard. A mere accident foiled us. I guess 
you did your part and I ain’t got no right to kick. 
But I thought you was going to get the certificates 
from him; that would have settled it anyway, for 
there wasn’t time enough left to make another set.” 

“I did get them,” said Trixie tersely. 

“You did? How did he get them back?” he de- 
manded sharply, with a tinge of suspicion creeping into 
his heavy tones. 

“Took them away from me.” 

“Did he see you take them?” 

“No.” 

“Where did you put them?” 

“In here,” said Trixie impatiently, smarting under 
the inquisitorial manner of her companion. “Where 
do women always conceal papers? I had on a semi- 
decollete gown.” 

“How did he get them, then?” continued Conley, 
still more darkly. 


205 


TBctt ©Barman 


“I told you he took them.” 

“How did he know where they were? He must 
have seen you take them and put them away and 
simply took them back when he got ready.” 

“No, he didn’t see me take them.” 

“Well?” 

“He heard them rustle when he held me against 
him,” she answered coolly. 

Conley’s face flushed angrily, open suspicion and 
accusation gleaming in his eyes. 

“He heard them crush as I did and naturally thought 
them in his own pocket — where they had been — until 
he reached into his pocket for them after Drillard 
tipped everything off. Then — the answer was sim- 
ple — if not on him they were on me.” 

“Trixie, you want to be careful. You said you’d 
be loyal to me.” 

“Yes, yes, I am. But I had to play him hard toward 
the end, had to use dope. But you needn’t look so 
savage. I take care of myself, as you know, pretty 
well. Besides — when he had found out how I tried to 
trick him — he said some very disagreeable things; 
and I hate him. I hate him. More than you do, 
Bart. I told him so. Told him we were just be- 
ginning to fight him and that we’d never let up.” 

“Good!” ejaculated the gambler king, his heavy 
face showing unmistakable signs of relief and satis- 
faction. He had been far from certain of her. The 
reaction left him in an agreeable mood, despite the 
failure of their first plot to steal the claims. “Trixie, 
you’re alright and we’ll make good yet. We’ll get him 
everyway as sure as my name’s Bart Conley. I’ve 
been investigating the Professor’s history, clean back ; 
had a detective agency at work ; cost me a pretty 
pile but I got what I wanted. I thought it was strange 
that a man like the Professor was buried out here 
in a two-by-four mining camp; a man of his edu- 
206 


15cn ffiHatmatt 


cation and him not a drinkin’, gamblin’ or dissipatin’ 
man.” 

His sardonic laugh was unpleasantly significant. 

“Bart, you always were a schemer. Have you got 
him right?” 

“Right? Right as a right-handed glove. Well, girl, 
I must be going. Sometime though I’ll stay. We’re 
going to be married some day, girl, some day not far 
away; remember that.” And he playfully, somewhat 
after the fashion of a grizzly bear, chucked her under 
the chin as he prepared to go. 

“Look here, Bart, that’s right. You’ve got the 
proper idea. But why not let me in on this story on 
the old man?” she objected, her curiosity aroused. 
“My brain don’t leak, or my tongue, and my head 
sometimes sprouts an idea. I may be able to help 
out.” 

After a moment’s consideration the ex-prize fighter 
dropped back into his chair. “I’ll line it out to you, 
girl, but see that it stays with you.” 

For half an hour they were in close-toned conver- 
sation. When the owner of the Palace left Trixie 
was evidently well pleased for she spoke aloud with 
triumphant vindictiveness: “We’ll see whether Rose 
Graham always carries her head so high in the future. 
This reaches her and, through her, Randall, Warman, 
as well as the old man and the property.” 

The next day verified Ben’s prediction that the 
Record claims certificates would be recorded. The 
names subscribed as locators were Shifty Sam — Sam 
Smith — and A. J. Travers. Conley’s name did not 
appear. 

“He’s got a minin’ deed from Shifty Sam in his 
safe now, you cun bet on ut,” said Ben, and such was 
the fact Ben walked directly alone to the Palace 
and entered Conley’s private saloon office. In spite 
of his self-control, Conley’s face, when he looked up 
207 


TSsn (KHarman 


at the man at his side, betokened his surprise and 
involuntarily his hand flashed half-way toward a com- 
partment of his desk. 

“Take it cool, Conley, don’t get excited. Our time 
will come by un’ bye when the sign is right. I c’u’d’ve 
got yuh settin’ there ef that wuz the present game. 
I’m a makin’ a demand on yuh now tuh git off our 
claims. Oh, I know y’ur name ain’t on the location 
certificates yuh filed but y’u’re runnin’ it un’ every- 
body in the game on y’ur side, includin’ Trixie How- 
ard. She c’u’dn’t help spittin’ that out when I told 
her a few things. Y’u almost got us that whirl, but 
not quite. What I want tuh know is, are yuh goin’ 
t’pull y’ur men off now ur have we got tuh take ’em ? 
Yuh might uz well know ut now; they’re on our 
claims un’ we’re- goin’ tuh take possession. If y’u 
want y’ur men killed off, keep ’em on; if y’u don’t, 
pull ’em off.” 

“Warman, you’re doing a tall lot of guessing, but 
we’ll let it go as it looks to you. Maybe, as you 
say, I am interested in the Record claims. I think 
you’re right in figgerin’ that we’ll meet and meet hard. 
I’m inclined to think so myself. On this possession 
racket you’re mistaken and missin’ the bull’s-eye a 
mile. We ain’t got no men up there on the claims. 
We don’t care anything about possession just now. 
You can go ahead and work the property. When 
we get ready we’ll take the claims and the work. Just 
as leave have you workin’ fur us in the meantime. 
Nobody’s got a patent for the ground yet. We’ve 
got discovery notices up, stakes set and discovery 
shafts sunk and the certificates recorded, all regu- 
lar. We don’t have to do anything else this year, or 
until the end of next year in the way of annual work, 
and you know it. We’re in no hurry. We’re stand- 
ing pat until the patent fight comes up.” 

Ben did not disclose the great surprise he felt at 
208 


TBeit ©Harman 


Conley’s statement that they did not intend to try to 
hold possession. 

“That’s a new play on me. Expected tuh fight 
muh way in. We’ll meet yuh on the patent fight. 
When the day comes between yuh un’ me, personal, 
it won’t be courts ur money that count, ur guns, 
either. I’m goin’ to beat yuh tuh pieces ’ith muh 
hands. Yuh hear me?” 

And the light Conley saw in the blue eyes look- 
ing down into his was a sufficient guarantee that 
Ben Warman meant just what he said. Conley’s 
heavy frame shook a trifle as he laughed grimly: 
“You’ll be welcome to try it on. You’ll walk into 
your grave. I won’t be hard to find when you’re 
ready.” 

As he finished Ben was striding toward the door, 
the interview closed. The next day Dan and Ben 
made a trip of inspection. “Well, we’ve got pos- 
session all right, Danny,” said Ben as they sat on the 
dump from the shaft; “but guess we’ll have tuh saw 
off work.” 

“Money give out, pard?” asked Dan laconically. 
He had surmised the situation and thought it all over 
long before. “Look here, Ben, I’m un old codger; 
ain’t got a chick nur child in the world; jest a lone, 
ol’ deerelect sloshin’ round. I ain’t got much money 
but I got ’nough — don’t yu go a makin’ no interpili- 
ations inter my remarks now — I’ve got the floor. I 
sez I got ’nough tuh buy supplies thet’ll run us fur 
a few months anyway; un’ I’ll put muh work in — 
hold on now — yuh ain’t got no right yet, parlamen’try, 
tuh participate inter muh speech — I sez I’ll put in 
muh work un’ muh little pile fur grub un’ powder — 
fur a fifth in’trust in y’ur share in the property. This 
ain’t no charity proposition. I’m a reg’lur Shyrock, I 
am, when ut comes tuh cold, calcalatin’ bus’ness, un’ 
I’m makin’ yuh a business preposition. I’m no cop- 
209 


“Ben 2x3arman 


per man, I’m a gold miner but I shore hev a heap uh 
confidence in — in them big words uv the Professor’s. 
I like him. He’s shore overshot intelectool. He ought 
t’ve ben a public speaker; he’s a pore shot — missed 
his callin’! Howsomever, yu give me y’ur word thet 
y’u’ll give me a fifth int’rust uv y’ur int’rust un’ we 
goes ahead.” 

“Danny, y’u’re the pure quill; un’ bein’ uz yuh put 
ut thataway she goes. Put ’er there, pard.” 

They shook hands and sealed the business compact 
and it was with them more binding than a sworn 
writing, as well as cemented more closely the bonds 
that had drawn them to each other. 

In a few days fresh supplies were in and they 
had resumed work on the shaft, Ben having explained 
the arrangement with Dan to the Professor and Rose 
but declining to let them share their interests in any 
degree. 

Again Ben resumed the routine of mining in the 
daytime and poring over his books at night. Danny, 
waking late at night, finding Ben still up and at his 
studies, would shake his shaggy head dubiously and 
mutter incoherences into his stubby, scraggly beard. 
That the incessant toil, day and night, was getting 
slightly on Ben’s nerves was made manifest one night 
when Dan had been indulging in a rather more in- 
sistent and pyrotechnic display of his nasal accom- 
plishments. Ben jumped up and shook him vigor- 
ously, rousing him from a dream in which he had been 
addressing an audience with the most wonderful and 
complicated verbal efforts. 

“Y’ur cylinder leaks, y’ur mouth needs repackin’ ; 
s’much escapes ut sounds like a contin’yus discharge 
from a soda fountain. Wake up, Danny, ef y’u 
don’t stop that sleep music I’ll attach a hose tuh 
y’ur nose un’ run the exhaust out uh the win- 
dow.” 


210 


IBen ©Harman 


Dan sat up. “I wuz makin’ a speech, Ben, un’ she 
wuz a raazamalooloo.” 

“I sh’u’d say she was; judgin’ from the variety uh 
sounds yuh was makin’ ut in diff’runt languages un’ 
y’ur audience must uh ben around the next bend. 
I’ve heard uv a feller that was silent in seven lingos 
— no relation uh y’urs. Y’u say y’ur a gold miner — 
wonder if yuh ever read ’bout silence bein’ golden. 
Take a turn, take a turn. Lay on y’ur other row uh 
slats; maybe they won’t squeak; it’ll change the key, 
anyway.” 

“Gittin’ kind uh narvous, ain’t yuh, Ben? Never 
used tuh notice muh bugler none whatever.” 

‘‘Maybe so, Dan, maybe so. Guess I’ll saw off now 
— little hand’s a pointin’ straight up un’ the big one’s 
got her covered to the notch in the cross-bar. We’ll 
make ut a duet un’ I’ll get un even start ’ith yuh.” 

The days sped swiftly by and it was soon well into 
October. The mountains, preparatory to winter, put 
on their vari-colored Indian blankets. From the 
Columbine property stretched away a vast picture in 
green and gold and purple. The quakin’ asps, with 
their yellow and orange, presented a velvet cloth of 
gold, widespread and checkered, pierced ever and 
anon by the black steeples of the pines. Round golden 
leaves fluttered down, were tossed by the eddying 
winds, to be caught in the needles of the pines which 
appeared to have flowered golden coin. Upon the 
breasts of the still waters of the pools in the moun- 
tain streams many colored leaves had fallen, forming 
mosaic carpets of yellow, brown, red, orange and 
purple. The air was vaporized gold. 

Ben had quietly resumed his visits to the Graham 
home, after a time, to report progress in mining mat- 
ters and to recite as of yore. It was apparent that 
he was making vigorous advancement in his book 
work and broadening perceptibly under the Profes- 


'Igen batman 


sor’s wide range of discussion, or rather disserta- 
tion. 

One evening when Dan, who once in a great while 
accompanied Ben, was present, as was also Dick Grant 
and Rose, the Professor expatiated persistently again 
upon the subject of irrigation; its history, its ap- 
plication, its results; of the wonders of it that had 
been and would be again on American soil in the 
West. 

“Water!” the old scholar exclaimed, standing be- 
fore the little group, his face lighted as with in- 
spiration, aglow with enthusiasm, his eyes seeming 
to look afar as one who has a vision. “Water! The 
reviving, refreshing, purifying, restoring, life-giving 
fluid! It is the blood of the soil. It makes glad the 
earth. Touching the burning sands, it produces grass 
and grain and flower and wealth. When I look into 
a mountain stream I see in its sheen the white of 
silver, in its glitter the flash of diamonds. In its 
pools I see the green of meadows and trees and grow- 
ing fields; in its shaded deeps the dark purple of 
ripening fruit, in its sunlit underflow the yellow of 
golden grain. 

“In its tinklings I hear the clink of precious metals, 
in its gurglings the merry voices of children, in its 
splashings the laughter of men, in its rushing the 
singing of women, in its roar the strains of the tri- 
umphal march of the mighty West! 

“Water! That greatest, most widespread, most 
wonderful, most blessed gift to man. Under its vi- 
talizing contact the deserts of the West shall spring 
from sterility to fertility, from barrenness to fruit- 
fulness, from desolation to habitation, from death to 
life. And then behold the apotheosis of the West! 
New havens shall be opened to the coming millions, 
a new earth shall be theirs. A mighty people whose 
blood is red and whose hearts are strong and true 
212 


13tn Mamxm 


shall here develop an empire in plenty, peace and 
happiness. Water! It is the Spirit of the West!” 

The little company gazed at the prophetic mien of 
the frail student in half belief and entire wonder. 
Then, of course, Dan, though entranced with the rest 
with the beautiful apostrophe — aye, he had listened 
in a silent ecstacy — needs must break the spell. 

“Water! I allers thought thet whisky wuz the 
spirit uv the West, and,” he added, as he weighed 
the known as against the unknown, history against 
prophecy, “danged ef I don’t think so yet.” 

But to Ben the words of the Professor had indeed 
been prophetic and they sank deep into his inner 
thoughts to be meditated on many times in the still 
hours of the nights and occasionally in the busy hours 
of the day as he stood at the shaft of the mine and 
looked down upon the broad, dry, sage-brush plain 
that stretched into the dim distance. 

One evening he gazed out upon it until it lay in 
dim, vasty darkness ; until the round, full moon ap- 
peared, a golden ball above the snow-capped ridges 
which seemed mighty, foam-tipped waves, as though 
it had been born by the alchemy of mountainous seas. 
The Queen of Night stood forth suddenly, full-orbed. 
It was as if all the gold and silver of those mighty hills 
had concentrated into a solid ball and sprung from 
the head of Mammoth — the Mountain Jove. In the 
brilliant light of that golden, brilliant sphere the 
rugged snow-crown of Mammoth, above the lava-black 
base of timber, was a cluster of pure froth, bubbled 
up from a crater and instantly frozen into a white, 
cold, pure mass. 

Somehow the magnificent spectacle lent inspiration 
and peace to his heart. 

Upon Rose in these days had fallen a deep reserve. 
Though sometimes present at the consultations and 
recitations she did not take the part in them she for- 
213 


"Ben OHatman 


merly had. The old frankness was gone. The de- 
lightful, free companionship Ben had enjoyed was 
no more. The natural candor and familiarity that 
had so pleased him was now entirely absent. 

With a growing gloom Ben had noticed these 
changes. He was unable to read these signs, to other 
eyes infallible, of a new and deeper emotion on her 
part. His interpretation of them was corroborated 
in his mind by the decided contrast in her manner 
toward Dick. With the dark, slight, graceful, boyish, 
brilliant editor she was at ease. They were much to- 
gether and Ben’s heart was cut to the quick as he 
watched their ever growing intimacy, for they seemed 
to have so much in common and were so lighthearted 
and merry together. 

For weeks Ben had noticed and pondered. Dick was 
educated, handsome, witty; he could meet and talk 
with her on her own plane, the plane of cultured peo- 
ple. What right had he, he asked himself, wild, rude, 
rough, ignorant, to hope that he would be preferred 
by this girl? It was natural for a girl like Rose to 
be attracted by the more gentle and refined qualities 
that Dick undoubtedly possessed. Why should he 
hope? Why should he persist? Why should he try 
to interfere? Was it not best for Rose that it should 
be — Dick ? 

As time passed he was obsessed with the idea that 
it must be so ; fate had taken a hand, nature was sim- 
ply moving along her accustomed lines. His hope 
was doomed. And yet — reason as he might — con- 
clude as he did many times that it was so to be and 
best to be so — his heart persisted in keeping alive the 
spark of hope. 

An incident occurring but a few days after the 
memorable sixteenth of September had accentuated 
Rose’s reserve toward Ben. Sibyl Lorimer had in- 
sisted upon a short trip up the Lost Dog and Gerald 
214 


T5m (LOarman 


and Dick accompanied them. Gerald had taken stock 
of his position and resolved to save himself from what 
he now, in his sober moments and freed from the in- 
fatuation of Trixie's presence and favor, knew meant 
his certain ruin, by putting his chances to the test with 
Rose. 

On this day he had taken particular pains to re- 
move or hide the signs of dissipation. And, fresh- 
shaven, well-dressed, and clean — he had even reached 
a stage in his downward course when even the habits 
of cleanliness of a lifetime were giving way — pre- 
sented a creditable, in fact a handsome, appearance. 

Under Sibyl's skillful handling of Dick at the proper 
time Gerald and Ruth were left alone, much to her 
uneasiness, though fear held no place in her anxiety. 

“Miss Rose," Gerald said presently, “you must have 
seen that you appealed to all that is right and good 
in me. You cannot know and I cannot tell you how 
much your regard means to me. Rose, I have loved 
you almost from the day I saw you first." 

The girl flushed in her embarrassment and he mis- 
took the meaning; saw in it a favorable sign. With 
increased fervor he continued, as she stood with 
averted face looking at the tumbling waters of the 
river. 

“I can see happiness only with you. Strange as it 
may seem, perhaps, to you I have never before known 
the girl I would ask to marry me. Now I ask it of 
you, Rose. You can lift me up. You can make me 
great in my art." 

Even his love could not eradicate the selfishness that 
saw only his own future. There was, though a trifle 
of embarrassment, no hesitation, no wavering, no un- 
certainty in her voice as she at last interrupted him. 

“Mr. Lorimer, it cannot be " 

“Wait, Miss Rose, do not say it now. Think about 
it. Think of the advantages I can offer you, think of 

215 


'Ben (HJatmatt 


the luxuries that shall be yours; eveiy advantage a 
great city can offer ” 

“It is useless/' she broke in. Now that she had 
started to speak she must finish. “I do not love you. 
It cannot be. I am sorry. I did not dream of such 
a possibility. Perhaps — you are mistaken in your feel- 
ings." 

“I am sure," he continued eagerly, for he was mak- 
ing the one great, last effort to redeem himself and he 
knew it, knew it in bitterness and fear of soul, “I am 
sure I could teach you to love me." 

She made* a sudden gesture of negation almost in- 
voluntarily. His slight self-control, the very tissues 
of his manliness having been emasculated, gave way 
instantly. His petty nature flew into a jealous, hope- 
less rage. 

“It is because you already love someone. And who 
is it ? I know. Everybody knows. An ignorant, wild, 
dissipated ex-cowboy and common miner, a man of 
no education or culture; a gambler, a western ruffian 
who fights like a beast. Oh, I know all about him " 

“Stop!" Rose’s tone was frigid, her young form 
drawn up in wrath at this puny, puerile semblance of 
a man. “It matters not to you what I think of Ben 
Warman. I will say this, that he is ten times the 
man you were ever capable of being. You ! To speak 
of gambling, of dissipation! You! Who, everybody 
knows, are gambling away your fortune — the fortune 

inherited and never won. It ill becomes you " by 

this time her cheeks were flaming as the Indian Pink 
flashes like a torch of fire from the earth, and her 
small hands were tightly clenched, “to attack a man, 
who, because he was a western ‘ruffian/ because he 
was a cowboy and a horseman, a magnificent shot, a 
fighter, if you please, saved you from being dragged 
to death! Have you no gratitude, no sense of honor, 
no manhood? Because Ben Warman was a rough 
216 


15ett (Hlatman 


miner and had a fighting spirit he knew how to save 
and did save your sister from a frightful death in the 
mine. And yet you attack him. I am ashamed of 
you, I am ashamed for you, since you are not.” 

“Yes, you are ashamed of me,” he replied, vindic- 
tively, “but you are not ashamed of being in love with 
a man who does not care for you, who, while he courts 
you, visits his mistress — Trixie Howard!” 

With that strange, selfish, perverted unreason, by 
which some people can see around the beam in their 
own eye and behold the mote in the eye of another, 
utterly oblivious of their own delinquency, he persist- 
ed : “I know! I know!” Becoming almost frenzied 
in his weak anger he continued wildly, viciously: “I 
saw him there with her. I saw it, I saw it, I tell you, 
with my own eyes — he with her, at midnight.” 

A cynical, insinuating laugh fell from his tremu- 
lous lips. As he had hissed out his exposure, confi- 
dent that it would end Ben Warman forever with 
her, Rose’s face paled and her rings bit deeply into 
her hand as she strove mightily for control. But the 
details ! How they pierced ! She closed her eyes for 
a moment to shut out the scene, thankful that she had 
been prepared. 

“Mr. Lorimer, you thought to surprise me, but you 
have not.” Her tones grew firm, she faced him calmly 
now. “I know all about that incident. Ben Warman,” 
a touch of pride seemed to creep into her voice, “told 
me himself. I am glad and thankful that he did — like 
a man. While you are trying to lower him in my 
sight, and for his shortcomings I have no apology to 
make to you, your peculiar intellect fails to see that 
I might ask the question of you, you who now come 
seeking me, what were you doing there? Why were 
you there at that hour Did I care, I might ask you 
to explain but it does not concern me. I do not wish 
and will not speak further.” 

217 


TBen ©Barman 


Enraged, desperate, weak, his nerves shattered, real- 
izing that Dick and Sibyl were out of hearing, that 
Rose was alone with him in the hills, Lorimer, his 
last vestige of control gone, suddenly sprang to the 
girl and clasped her in his arms. 

"I'll have you anyway. You shall be mine. You 
are mine now,” he cried, hoarsely. 

His flushed face was thrust to hers to kiss her. Weak 
as her assailant was, there was need now for all the 
young strength and courage of Rose Graham. Though 
it brought her in abhorent contact with him she fought 
primitively in her protection. Striking desperately 
until she felt her strength weakening, she suddenly 
struggled fiercely and finally wrenched herself partially 
free. Her right hand slipped swiftly to her skirt 
pocket and the next instant the barrel of her small 
pistol pressed Lorimer between the eyes. 

‘‘You coward! You hound!” she panted. “Release 
me instantly or I shoot — to kill.” Her eyes, ablaze 
with indignation and wrath, confirmed her next words : 
“I ought to shoot now !” 

Utterly surprised, amazed, his arms dropped, he 
backed away, abject fear distending his fixed eyes. 
His shaking hands were raised as if to ward off the 
shot. “Don’t shoot. I didn’t mean anything,” he 
stammered. “Don’t say anything about it. Ben — Ben 
Warman will kill me — and then — he’ll get into trouble. 
I was not myself. I — I — forgive me.” 

Her eyes, blazing her scorn, but silently blessing the 
day she had begun the habit of carrying a revolver 
in the hills, she swept on before him, giving him no 
chance to approach near her or renew the subject. 
They overtook Sibyl and Dick at length, from whom 
with a great effort they concealed their agitation; 
though the observant eye of Sibyl saw in her brother’s 
manner the fact of his refusal. But she little dreamed 
what else had occurred. Lorimer drew a quaking sigh 
218 


TBen barman 


of relief when Rose kept silent as to his act. And yet 
his coarsening soul could feel a gratified vanity. 

The remembrance of his sneering words — that 
everybody knew of her attachment to Ben — did not 
fail to rankle in Rose’s breast and it had its due effect 
upon her constant and growing reserve toward him. 
This threw her more constantly with Dick. Her feel- 
ing toward him, an attraction she could not analyze, 
puzzled her, when she occasionally gave it thought. 
It was a feeling that seemed to bring them into more 
and more intimacy. No less was Dick able to analyze 
his feelings toward Rose save that he felt, he thought, 
strangely enough, no sense of rivalry or disloyalty 
toward Ben. 

Rose, after full consideration, shrinking from the 
publicity that would be inevitable, and moved by a 
fear that Ben might kill him in quick, awful wrath, 
resolved to say nothing about Lorimer’s attack upon 
her. 


219 


CHAPTER XXV 


RED AND WHITE CORPUSCLES 

One evening as Ben approached the Graham home 
rather later than usual, he was struck by the scene 
within as he beheld it through the window. The lamps 
were lighted but the shades had not yet been drawn. 
In the soft glow the Professor, Dick and Rose sat to- 
gether. The Professor’s book lay on his knees unno- 
ticed. Rose, evidently listening closely to the speaker, 
Dick, held a bit of forgotten crochet work in her lap. 
Dick was talking energetically and the faces of his 
listeners showed earnest attention. 

The conviction came upon the lone watcher with 
stinging force that the circle was complete — complete 
without him. They were evidently happy and con- 
tented. Why should he intrude his presence upon the 
scene, he asked himself. Rose’s manner of late had 
made it all too plain, as he interpreted it, that condi- 
tions were not the same as theretofore. While he felt 
that he would be welcomed, in spite of his lapses, yet 
another was occupying the place which he had hoped 
and silently longed for. 

He had no right to complain. She had done much, 
was still, with her father, doing much for him; but 
that was no reason why she was not free to choose her 
own course. No spoken word, no act really bound her 
to him in any degree. She had doubtless been right 
in withholding encouragement save in the matter of 
their business and his upbuilding. Nothing that had 
transpired had given him the right to say: “You led 
me to believe that you cared for me.” Never had she 
220 


ISm (KHarman 


been aught but her own sincere, candor-eyed, prac- 
tical, truthful self. He could not feel harshly toward 
her; neither could he blame Dick, who had an equal 
right to pursue his chance to win Rose. 

. There seemed little doubt now but that she preferred 
his friend. He noticed the light, clean, well-fitting at- 
tire of those within and suddenly became conscious 
of his hardened hands, his coarse, worn trousers, his 
great, heavy miner’s boots, his old slouch hat. He 
had even neglected to shave this night, having worked 
later than usual. He could not go in. Silently he 
turned Mesa’s head and rode back to the hotel. 

Had he known that he and his struggles, his pres- 
ent and his future were the subjects of the earnest 
conversation he had witnessed from without different 
emotions would have been aroused within his breast 
and he would have been saved from a retreat and a 
fall — and a victory of no mean degree. 

“I have faith in him,” Dick was saying at the very 
moment Ben had turned away in bitterness of thought, 
his mind and heart tensed to the strain of renunciation ; 
no, not renunciation, for nothing was his to renounce ; 
but with hopelessness unrelieved by resignation. Loyal 
Dick was doing his utmost, delicately, to minimize the 
delinquencies of the past and especially the incident 
of the sixteenth of September ; also to discount in ad- 
vance any future outbreakings, for he feared them, 
knowing something of the strength of habit himself, 
and of association, temptation and provocation. 

The Professor had been thinking deeply. He closed 
his book abruptly and removed his glasses. 

“My children, when you are speculating on the fu- 
ture of a man like Ben Warman there are underlying 
agencies, influences, environments, laws, principles 
that you must consider if you go to the bottom of 
the question. He is a type of a certain stage of evo- 
lution.” 


221 


'Ben 82Jarman 


“What do you mean?” Dick inquired, curiously. 

“In the physical organization,” the Professor pro- 
ceeded, “there are in the blood two kinds of corpuscles, 
the red and the white, the red representing the iron, 
the base; the white, the refining, purifying element. 
For a healthy, normal, permanent condition these two 
kinds of corpuscles must mingle in a proper propor- 
tion. The savage represents the abnormal preponder- 
ance of the red ; the over-civilized has a preponderance 
of the white; the one is under-civilized, the other ul- 
tra-refined. 

“In the first you will find excessive posterior devel- 
opment of the head — the brain, in the second excessive 
frontal development. The frontal is the guiding in- 
fluence, presiding over the mental attributes, the pos- 
terior is the motive power, presiding over the physical. 
Development runs from the posterior to the front- 
al.” 

A touch of sadness came into the little man’s voice. 
“I, myself, am a victim of frontal development at the 
expense of physique, practical wisdom and energy. I 
have no executive ability. I have gone to the third 
degree of education — the visionary.” 

“In some things, perhaps, Professor,” protested 
Dick, loyally and sincerely, “but in the big things you 
are a prophet of truth.” 

The diminutive scholar was silent for a moment, 
communing with himself, with the past. Again he 
roused. 

“Gerald Lorimer is an example of the extremes of 
culture, education and wealth, which are, respectively, 
insincerity and falseness ; effeminacy and weakness ; 
dissipation and decadence. g His stock has run its 
course through seven or eight generations of wealth 
and idleness, and is dying of decay. The red cor- 
puscle is lacking, the white predominates to excess. 
Vice finds him an easy prey ; he has no powers of re- 
222 


TBen <[<3arman 


sistance, no constitution to withstand, no will. His 
mental, moral and physical fibres are loosed. 

“There is little hope for him. His inevitable end, 
in the natural course, is decadence — and death. It is 
not all his fault. The generations that have gone be- 
fore him are in a great measure responsible, though to 
every man is given knowledge, reason, conscience, the 
divine spark, and if he wills he may save himself, 
against all odds. But with him I fear the process has 
gone too far, accelerated by his own, deliberate acts. 
His vices are artificially stimulated, depraved. In 
short, he is decadent. He will perish miserably. ,, 

Rose, remembering Lorimer’s attack, knew in her 
soul that her father’s words were true. 

“And Ben?” asked Dick eagerly. 

“Ben,” the Professor went on, “is a man whose 
blood is red. Heredity gave him that. The West, and 
his life in it, have accentuated it. He comes from a 
fresh, and in his. case a particularly wild, original 
stock, virile, strong. His frontal development has been 
deficient. The posterior brain qualities are abnor- 
mally intense. He has the good qualities that belong 
to this type: strength, courage, humanness, love of 
freedom. But these, in a degree, have proceeded to 
their natural excesses in him for lack of the influence 
of the white corpuscles, lack of the anterior brain 
qualities: education, restraint. And he has therefore 
been wild, reckless, passionate, lawless: 

“His vices are bold, springing from a superb vitality 
and not from a diseased mind and body. His out- 
breakings are from the deep source of overflowing 
life and spirits. He has therefore been exposed to 
the natural penalties of these extremes: violence and 
destruction. He might have been killed in any one of 
numerous — escapades — to use a mild term. His ca- 
reer, carried out to its unhindered, legitimate conclu- 
sion, would undoubtedly end in a violent death.” 

223 


Igett ©Harman 


“What is the preventative ?” inquired Dick ear- 
nestly. 

‘‘But, he is not necessarily doomed to that end,” the 
old scholar continued as though he had not heard, “as 
is the case with Lorimer by the other process ; both 
extremes, you will observe, end in death. But for the 
same reason that savage races endure, that is under 
their native conditions, while the over-civilized die, 
Ben will escape, let us hope. Few carry these excesses 
to the end where the extreme penalty is exacted. But 
that is the law. Extremes kill. The solution is the 
golden mean. There is in him an hereditary strain of 
the frontal qualities, the white corpuscle, from the 
eastern, 4 Puritan side through his mother, which, 
though it has apparently been entirely eradicated, nev- 
ertheless is there and may at any time reassert itself 
unexpectedly and strongly.” 

“Do you think it will ever demonstrate itself in 
him ?” questioned Dick, intensely interested. 

“I really believe it is working in him at the present 
time. Again, he may be saved by his will which is even 
now holding him pretty well to the steady acquirement 
of those things and qualities needed to balance his 
character. If education, refinement, culture, moral 
principles, ambition for higher things can be developed 
in him, added to his superabundant physical powers, 
his wonderful vitality, his fighting courage, his domi- 
nating spirit, his daring optimism, then indeed will 
there be a balanced man to whom all things are pos- 
sible. It cannot be done instantaneously, but through 
growth and trial. He has the iron capping ; developed, 
rich character deposits will be disclosed.” 

The scholar had finished. The enthusiasm with 
which he had concluded was reflected in the faces of 
his hearers. 

“He will do it,” exclaimed Dick emphatically, strik- 
ing his fist on the table. “He may not do it at once, 
224 


TBtn MJatmatt 


or all at once ; there may be failures and slips and even 
hard falls; but he will get up and go on.” 

“He has made great progress,” added Rose, “in the 
comparatively short time since he — seemed to awaken. 
I sincerely hope,” neither Dick nor her father had any 
realization of the depth, the fervor, the intensity of 
that hope, for her tone was calm, “that he will suc- 
ceed — in all things.” 

Even as she spoke the words, Ben, drunk, was stak- 
ing his interest in the Columbine Lodes at the gam- 
bling table with Conley in the Palace saloon. 


225 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A FALL AND A VICTORY 

As he had ridden away from the Graham home 
back to the hotel Ben felt a trifle chilled as the cool 
night air penetrated his worn, flannel shirt unpro- 
tected by coat or vest. Dismounting, he strode to the 
bar and called for whiskey and, as it seemed to be 
warming him up very slowly, impatiently, too, a second 
and a larger one. 

As he stood in unpleasant meditation a familiar 
voice broke upon his hearing : “Cut me out un’ send 
me back tuh the range fur a poor ’un ef ut ain’t Ben 
hisself.” 

He turned quickly to meet the outstretched brown 
paw and freckled face of Buck Carson — Buck in the 
same old high-heeled boots, chaps, belt and gun as 
of yore. Buck’s face fairly gleamed and shone with 
pleasure — pure, unadulterated joy of affection — while 
Ben felt a rush of good fellowship as they had known 
it for years on the range. Here was one steadfast, 
true friend who never changed; who would give him 
his shirt from his back if he asked for it. His greet- 
ing was prompt : 

“Y’u horsethief, y’u cattle stealer, y’u sheep killer, 
y’u ol’ freckled-faced, bow-legged son-of-a-gun. 
How’d you git here ?” 

“The marshal was lookin’ th’ other way un’ I 
slipped in,” Buck grinned cheerfully. Those terms of 
endearment had been as balm to his hungry sensibili- 
ties — so long had he wished for sight of and com- 
munion — as they knew it — with Ben. The epithets 
226 


15eit (Hlatman 


entered his hearing like music, for they proved to him 
that he had kept his place in Ben’s friendship and 
affection. All was well. 

“Hank, what’s the proper brand fur a meetin’ uh 
long lost partners ?” 

“Whis-Whis- Whiskey s-s-straight, sure.” 

“Well, spill ut quick. Git in y’urself. Here’s how.” 

“Buck,” said Ben suddenly, as they set their glasses 
back on the bar, “y’u must uh had a payday. How 
come yuh tuh hit the long trail clean tuh Diorite tuh 
burn ut? Yuh c’u’d’ve got quicker action down at 
Cowtown ur at Rawlins.” 

“Oh, I hed a little bus’ness tuh look after here,” 
Buck lied glibly, for he had ridden over a hundred 
miles solely for the purpose of spending a day with 
his old pard. He knew it, Ben knew it and Buck knew 
that Ben knew it — was glad of it. 

Ben raised his finger and the whiskey glasses once 
more decorated the mahogany. Somehow the bitter- 
ness within him was being alleviated ; perhaps it could 
be eradicated. “Say, Buck, a good man in this place 
ud be uz lonesome uz a saint in hell,” he laughed 
shortly. 

“Oh, I d-d-d-don’t k-k-know,” offered Hank quick- 
ly. “I’m g-g-gettin’ along all r-r-r-right.” 

Ben and Buck grinned their appreciation. “That’s 
worth another,” rejoined Ben. 

And again they drank and took it straight. The 
fire in the raw liquor met the fire in Ben’s veins and 
was surcharging his whole body and he felt the re- 
surgence of elemental passions. They were now a 
burning glow, soon they would flame and — he was 
forgetting. It was pleasant to forget. The bitterness 
was rapidly vanishing. Buck was his old friend. He 
was in duty bound to do the honors and he did them — 
copiously. 

Ben’s eyes brightened under the stimulants and that 
227 


TBett (EOarman 


betokened some reckless activity sooner or later. It 
had been long since he had let his appetite slip. It was 
now aroused, clamoring, demanding, burning. They 
began making the rounds of the saloons and an hour 
later entered the Palace, arm in arm, singing : 

“Then whoop la — la, set 'em afire, 

Shouts the rider free-e. 

It’s throw in your spurs and burn the earth, 

For a cowboy’s life for me-e.” 

The face of Bart Conley exhibited just a touch of 
surprise as he saw them and a deep satisfaction came 
upon him. It would be sufficient for him and his pur- 
poses at present to see Ben plunged back into his old 
habits. It would make future operations easier of ac- 
complishment. Then — there were possibilities in the 
present hour. 

“In course y’ur a cowboy,” beamed Buck, proud of 
his mate and with a pride in his calling. “Yu a miner? 
Say, yuh c’u’dn’t hit a drill ’ith a fryin’ pan tonight.” 
Then he sang out : “Hurrah fur hell un’ Wyomin’, the 
two best states in the Union! Everybody have one.” 

To which Ben responded: “Yuh hain’t said, Buck, 
where y’u’re from, Col’rado ur Montan’; but yuh 
hadn’t ought tuh talk about y’ur state thataway.” 

The bar was quickly lined. When Conley looked up 
from his poker game it was Ben Warman who was 
asking to sit in the place of a retiring lawyer, the battle 
light in his eye. 

“I’ve got a hundred that ain’t a workin’. It’s howl- 
in’ fur action.” 

Conley’s eyes returned the battle-light with interest. 

“Sit in,” he said tersely. 

A crowd of miners flocked around the table. By 
the mysterious processes of small community news 
dissemination the miners were cognizant of recent 
228 


15en JflJarman 


events and the deadly enmity between these two men, 
accentuated by the recent jumping of Warman’s claims 
by Conley’s gang. 

The play proceeded in a dead silence, save the slap- 
ping of the cards, the click of chips. In spite of oc- 
casional careless playing and reckless betting, due to 
the whiskey he had consumed, sufficient to have in- 
capacitated most men, Ben’s luck steadily increased 
his holdings. He savagely wished for wealth to take 
off the limit and break Conley. His luck still running, 
he at length counted his chips. They represented four 
hundred dollars. Dividing it in two piles he shoved 
one of them to the center of the table. 

‘Til play yuh, deal, discard, draw and show-down,” 
he snapped. 

Conley nodded affirmatively and covered the bet. # 
The cards were dealt, discards were made, cards were 
drawn and the hands laid face up on the table. Con- 
ley won. 

The remaining pile of chips was likewise shoved to 
the center and covered. When the hands were laid 
down Conley’s was again the stronger and with im- 
passive, inscrutable face he drew in the chips and 
looked an insulting inquiry at his enemy. Ben’s eyes 
grew grey. 

“I’ll bet yuh muh interest in the Columbine claims 
against y’ur interest in the Record claims — and — ” a 
sarcastic smile lit up his flushed features, “three thou- 
sand dollars.” 

The inference was plainly that the Record claims 
were valueless; it was a challenge. All eyes settled 
on Conley. He had at last brought Ben to the point 
he had hoped for; he was staking his interest in the 
copper claims, he was drunk, his luck had changed 
and, by the gambler’s laws of chance, he stood to 
lose again. Conley reasoned that he himself had a 
brain free from the fumes of whiskey and excitement. 

229 


15en G3arman 


The game had to be square because it was watched by 
all and because the first disclosure of cheating or an at- 
tempt to do so would be followed by instant gun-work. 
Again, it was an opportunity to show his confidence 
in the Record claims. 

“I won’t bet my interest in the Record claims, 
they’re too valuable; but I’ll add two thousand and 
make it five thousand against your interest in the Co- 
lumbines, because ” he added distinctly and slow- 

ly, with biting deliberateness, “they’ll probably cost us 
that much anyway before we get them through the 
courts.” 

“Done,” replied Ben quickly. 

Conley nodded to Shifty Sam who rapidly brought 
from the safe five packages of currency and deposited 
them on the table. Next he brought a mining deed 
printed in blank which Ben seized, quickly made out, 
signed and acknowledged before a weazened-faced no- 
tary who had been brought in from next door. The 
document was then placed beside the packages of 
currency. Ben threw a dollar on the table, saying: 
“A fresh pack uh cards from the drug store — sealed.” 

Conley nodded acquiescence. It was a customary 
precaution. Someone obeyed swiftly, the players tak- 
ing the cards without even glancing at the messenger 
who of course owned the change. 

Conley dealt. The shift and flip of cards cut the 
silence sibilantly. Ben called for one card, Conley for 
two. To the spectators this meant, in all probability, 
that Warman was trying to fill a straight or a flush, 
failing in which, he would have nothing. Conley’s 
call for two cards indicated three of a kind and that 
he was trying for a fourth or another pair for a full 
house, a strong hand before the draw ! 

Each received their cards, Conley two, Warman 
one. Instantly the gambler king threw upon the table 
four queens ! He had drawn the fourth ! The crowd 
230 


T5en COarman 


drew a long breath at the confirmation of its con- 
jectures as to Conley’s hand and feeling that the con- 
test was decided. 

Warman cast aside the card he had drawn as soon 
as he had picked it up. It was worthless. Then he 
threw his hand down and leaned over with glittering 
eyes and teeth bared and flashing in insulting mock- 
ery. A deep breath ran around the circle of on- 
lookers. In the intense silence someone ejaculated in 
an awed tone: “I’m a son-of-a !” 

Four kings lay before them! Ben had held them 
before the draw ! An almost invincible hand and he 
had not betrayed it by the flicker of an eyelid. Conley 
himself could not have surpassed his self-control. 

“The Columbines win!” Ben grated. “They’ll al- 
ways win !” 

And as he picked up the packages of currency a 
murmur, it seemed of satisfaction, ran around the cir- 
cle of men. 

With magnificent indifference Conley waved his 
hand in careless acquiescence with the decision of the 
cards. “You’ll put the money and work into the 
claims. We’ll get it all when we get ready to take 
them,” he said, coolly. 

The eyes that looked across the table into the eyes 
of Ben Warman as he concluded in that moment gave 
Ben what he wished — the certain knowledge that some 
day they would meet, man to man, muscle to muscle, 
sinew straining against sinew, impact for impact, and 
one of them would be broken. 

Amid an uproar Ben placed the packages of cur- 
rency inside of his stout shirt; twixt collar and belt 
they were safe. For the second time Conley saw his 
money taken by this man’s phenomenal luck and nerve. 
It added to the volume of accumulated wrath pent up 
within him. Some day it would lend weight to his 
arm. 


231 


'Ben MJacman 


“Halt, y’u skunk!” suddenly rang out the voice of 
Buck Carson, who had been throughout the ordeal at 
Ben’s back; and, turning, the crowd beheld him with 
gun leveled and Shifty Sam halted at the door of 
Conley’s private office. Buck’s voice again command- 
ed : “Come here un’ deliver, y’u kiote.” 

Shifty Sam came. “What y’u want ?” 

A single word came from Buck’s twisting lips: 
“Quick!” 

His face, white and working, Shifty Sam’s hand 
reached up his other sleeve and pulled out a paper. 

“Take it, Ben.” 

“What is ut, Buck?” 

“Y’ur deed. I reckon yuh wasn’t opinin’ tuh de- 
liver ut jest yet awhile.” 

Ben’s eyes pierced through Shifty Sam and then 
shifted to Conley’s face. “Thanks, Buck. Little care- 
less uh me.” With biting slowness he added: “Con- 
ley, y’u’ve got some purty bad actors in y’ur trainin’ 
quarters.” 

Conley at last flushed. It was a bad break and 
though not made directly by him it would be laid at 
his door by the crowd. 

Rising he deliberately walked to Shifty Sam and 
swung his mighty arm. There was a heavy thud and 
Shifty Sam fell senseless. 

Thus the enraged dictator repudiated the unsuccess- 
ful act of his satellite. The hapless victim was car- 
ried out and the crowd soon had forgotten. Ben’s 
money crossed the bar in generous amounts to slake 
the huge thirst of the mob of men who finally broke 
into a cheer. Conley had lost a good portion of the 
grip and influence which had been his with these min- 
ers who were now outspoken in behalf of their fel- 
low miner. Warman was game, he was square, he was 
one of them. 

Two hours later Buck and Ben, having circled all 
232 


TBett COanttan 


the remaining saloons once more, stood on a side street. 

“Come on, Ben. Thish’s the place.” 

Ben looked up. In front of them were red-lighted 
windows from behind which came the sound of high- 
pitched music and laughter. Along the proscribed 
district more red-lighted windows gleamed half mer- 
rily, half luridly. His head came up with a jerk and, 
wild and crazed as he was, his form straightened up 
as though partially sobered by some sudden realization 
or remembrance. His eyes flashed, his jaws set hard. 

“I'll be damned if I do !” 

“Right you are, Ben, you’ll be damned if you do,” a 
voice spoke beside them and Dick linked his arm in 
those of Ben and Buck and led them to the Pacific. 
Incidentally he took charge of several packages of 
currency of large denominations and a handful of 
loose bills. 

Returning from Graham’s, wondering why Ben had 
not arrived, he sauntered into the Palace, where he 
heard the details of the night’s great event. He set 
out immediately to find Ben. As he left the Pacific 
he drew a long breath of soul-felt relief that the oc- 
currences of the last few hours had been no worse. 


233 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE SILENT PLEDGE 

October was passing. Warm-hearted summer was 
kissing goodbye to earth and old earth was blushing 
in gold, in crimson and scarlet. 

The patches of quakin’ asps quivered in multitudi- 
nous colors their agitation over the approaching des- 
titution of foliage. The cottonwoods were in the sere 
and yellow leaf. The willows took on the purple rus- 
set-red of rigorous weather. Followed days of gold 
and nights of silver and black velvet. 

Work was going on steadily at the mine. A small 
plant of machinery had been installed, boiler, hoist and 
compressor. The machine drill chugged a steady roar 
as it ate holes into the bottom of the shaft. Two shifts’ 
of men were now employed and two more buildings 
had been erected — a cook house and a bunk house. 
Ben felt no compunctions of conscience but smiled 
grimly at using the money he had won from Conley 
in this way. 

Since that night, when he had fallen in one respect 
and gained a great victory over himself in another and 
more vital respect, he had settled down to his work 
persistently, unflaggingly. After an interim of shame 
and discouragement he now again occasionally vis- 
ited at the Professor’s. No explanations had been 
offered by him and none were asked. The night of 
drink and gambling was passed over in silence. Dick 
had told Rose the whole truth of the sixteenth of Sep- 
tember history, cheerfully violating Ben’s confidence 
in him, the only one to whom he had mentioned the 
234 


TSeit lOarman 


“doping” of the wine. He boldly asserted Ben’s inno- 
cence of grave wrongdoing. The bitterness of Rose’s 
wound was alleviated. In her tenderness of reaction 
she even accused herself of wronging the man who had 
by lack of definiteness confessed more than he was 
guilty of. 

She could not mention the subject but she made it 
plain that Ben was still welcome and that they would 
hear to nothing else than that he continue his studies 
and business relations with them as theretofore. Of 
her feelings toward himself Ben knew no more than 
he ever did. He felt in the depths of his being, after 
he had again risen out of the abysses of shame, regret, 
mortification and despair at his failures, after long 
nights of introspection that he had now, at last, a grasp 
on himself that was secure. Save the conviction that 
he must some day fight Conley the old inclinations to 
fight, drink, gamble and carouse while not dead by 
any means, were subject to his will and his will was 
made up forever on those matters and their kin- 
dred evils. He now held these old tendencies by the 
throat. 

Thus he labored on with the encouragement at least 
that he was becoming in a measure “fit” to hope 
against hope. His conviction that Rose was becoming 
attached to Dick persisted. Yet at times it was in abey- 
ance so that he sometimes dreamed that the master 
desire of his heart might yet be fulfilled, his great 
love might conquer. She was not yet another’s and the 
old spark of hope was alive. 

“How’s business?” he yelled down at Dan one 
morning early in November, as Dan was at work at 
the bottom of the shaft making an inspection between 
shifts. 

“From down here,” shouted the ever ready old pros- 
pector, “she’s like the ’stronomer’s — lookin’ up; un’ 
ef she keeps on ut this rate she’ll soon be like the rag- 
235 


15en ftOarman 


man’s — pickin’ up ; un’ we’ll be makin’ a little money — 
uz the counterfeiter said.” 

His voice had been growing plainer and suddenly he 
shot up out of the shaft, standing on the iron bucket 
hoisted by steam and cable, springing into view like 
a jack-in-the-box. “I’m busier ’un a squirrel in the 
fall,” he exclaimed, giving his muddy hat a pull over 
his eyes in the bright light and hitching up his trousers. 

“You busy!” broke in Rud, sarcastically, as he 
pulled the brake tight on the hoist, “Old-man-afraid- 
uh-wor-rk !” 

“Me afeared uh work? Why, I cun lay down along- 
side the hardest kind uh work un’ go tuh sleep peace- 
ful. Rud, y’u’re suh slow thet ef y’u shot a man fatal 
he w’u’dn’t die fur three months. But we’d better 
all git busy fur et won’t be long till the snow gits 
suh deep up here the grouse’ll hev tuh make holes in 
the snow tuh reach the tops uh the pines. Them equal- 
noxious storms is overdue. Let’s shet up our yawps 
un’ git to work pronto.” 

“Well, old scout, if you’ll give me a chance to say a 
word,” Ben admonished drawingly, “y’u’d better clean 
y’urself up a bit today. The whole bunch is coming 
up for a visit. They’ll be here about five for supper 
and stay all night ; back in the morning early. Better 
chop y’ur hair and beard off a few; but use a sharp 
hatchet this time.” 

“I will ef I cun beat yuh t’ ut. Y’ur own goldilocks 
ain’t uz plumb shapely uz they might be. Five, eh?” 

Dan looked quizzically at his watch. He loved the 
sleek, shiny, huge timepiece. It filled his soul with de- 
light and satisfaction to gaze alternately at it and 
the sun as though they were equally infallible. 

“A salpeen,” grinned Rud, eyeing it, “a salpeen 
oncet hung wan iv thim onto me; but it wasn’t me 
fault. I wuz sick; c’u’dn’t hilp mesilf.” 

Up the mountain road that afternoon came the 
236 


TBett (HHarman 


heavy wagon with the “bunch” — the Professor, Rose, 
Dick and Sibyl. A half-foot of snow had fallen during 
the night, too soft and loose for sledding, but enough 
to hide the black trees with a clinging, white covering. 
As they rose from the foothills to timber line exclama- 
tions of delight escaped the lips of all, their eyes falling 
on a succession of beautiful scenes. 

The trees were statues carved of marble. On some 
groups not a branch or needle was visible, nothing 
dark; all was white, still, graceful, stately, symmet- 
rical. They rose, cones of pure, clustered marble 
beauty and statuesque coldness until they were 
suddenly mellowed into warm ivory by the shafts of 
light strained through the red of the late afternoon 
haze. 

Looking down upon it all, his domain and his sub- 
jects, towered Vulcan, his snow- whitened garments 
purple-tinted by the early descending winter’s sun. 
His snow-covered head was crowned with red as of 
fire. 

On the fresh, white blanket of snow they saw the 
straight, small, delicate trail of the chipmunk as if a 
small chain had been stretched and lightly snapped on 
the snow; and again, the broader trail of the ground 
squirrel. Here was the alternate single and double 
prints of the erratic jackrabbit and there the even 
measured single-hole tracks of the red fox. And 
once they saw the broad, slouching impressions of the 
huge paws of a bear. 

They arrived at camp in high spirits and with keen 
appetites just as the sun set. A fine feast of grouse 
graced the table. Never had Ben risen to an occasion 
as now. With a grace and ease, and, yes, true cour- 
tesy, that would have done credit to a host anywhere 
on any occasion, he made each guest impartially feel 
the mark of his personal attention. His conversation 
had improved conspicuously in subject, tone, style and 

237 


*25011 MJarman 


language. Anecdote and repartee fell freely and easily 
from his lips. After long preparation it seemed that 
he had suddenly taken a long stride in advance. It 
was a gay, happy party, Sibyl and Dick indulging in 
much bantering, while Dan, urged on by Dick, contrib- 
uted much in the way of oddities of experience and ex- 
pression. 

The party were comfortably “bunked” for the night 
in a new, two-room log-cabin, just finished. 

Prior to retiring, Rose, unknowingly, perhaps, fore- 
stalling a plan of Sibyl’s which she had already formed 
her lips to express, stated her desire to Ben to view 
the snow-covered mountains by moonlight. With 
Ben’s assistance the two soon stood on a rocky emi- 
nence some two hundred yards from the camp. The 
eternal hills lay in still grandeur. They gazed into the 
white silence. 

“Ben, I’m going away.” 

“Away ! Where ? When ?” 

“East,” said Rose quickly, as if anxious to state 
everything as rapidly as possible, now she had started. 
“Aunt Caroline, my mother’s sister, living in> Chi- 
cago, has generously offered to provide a home for 
me for a couple of years and money sufficient to fur- 
nish educational and musical instruction for that 
length of time. The letter came unexpectedly. We 
had not heard from them in years, but it seems Aunt 
Caroline had it all planned out. Father and I have 
talked it all over and accepted. I start day after to- 
morrow.” 

“I — I — am glad,” Ben finally responded, after he 
had looked awhile at the dim, distant, serrated peaks 
and after there had flashed into his mind the meaning 
and possibilities that lay in this new departure. “I — -I 
had hoped that some day I would be the means, 
through the mine, or something else I have in mind, of 
making this possible for you, knowing it has been 
238 


I 


16 en (Hlannan 


your hope and wish. But — I’m mighty glad you have 
it now." 

His feeling here mastered the new, careful habit of 
speech and he lapsed into his old nervous, quick, ab- 
breviated style. 

“I wuz jest beginnin’ tuh ketch a sight uh the level 
on which yuh stood un’ now — now y’u’re goih’ higher 
un’ further away. Ut means more climbin’ fur me — 
tuh — tuh — keep yuh in sight. Ut’s a long time — two 
years !” 

“Ben, when I think of it at times it seems like I 
can’t go and leave — you all — and the mountains, but it 
is best.” 

“Uh course ut’s best, Rose. I — I w’u’dn’t hev yuh 
miss ut fur nuthin’. Ut’ll make ut mighty lonesome 
round here, when yuh go, Rose. Y’u’ve ben a great 
help tuh me.” His voice deepened as feeling welled 
up like vast swelling billows. “I ain’t done much; 
only a little ; but I c’u’dn’t’ve done thet ef ut hadn’t ben 
fur yu given me a start un’ helpin’ me along. I’ve 
slipped back once ur twicet, nobudy knows ut better 
’un I do. I’ve sweat blood over ut. But y’u’ve ben 
kind un’ charitable un’ always willin’ tuh give me an- 
other chanct. Ef y’u care about ut, my climbin’ up I 
mean, I want y’u tuh know thet I’m square on muh 
feet at last un’ yuh — yuh needn’t worry none — while 
y’ur gone.” 

Impulsively she gave him her hand as if in under- 
standing and confidence. And then his taut reserve 
broke. He took her other hand, clasped both tightly 
and looked down into her dark eyes uplifted to his in 
the moonlight, the eyes wherein he thought he could 
thus see mystically unutterable devotion, affection, sin- 
cerity and truth — and — he hoped — love. His throat 
worked queerly for a moment before he could speak. 

“Little girl, I want yuh tuh listen to me now un’ 
remember every word I tell yuh. I don’t ask yuh, I 
239 


15en (KBarman 


forbid yuh, to say a word when I’m through. I got no 
right tuh expect yuh or allow yuh to say anything uz 
I see ut. But, little girl, little girl, I love yuh, I love 
yuh. Un’ some day when I’m fit I’m goin’ tuh ask 
yuh tuh say somethin’ tuh me. Y’u’re goin’ away fur 
a long time. Y’u’ll be a fine lady, there’ll be plenty 
uz’ll be proud tuh hev yuh. I’ve been afeared ut times 
y’ur face wuz turned away from me here and towards 
somebody else. But the feelin’ in here,” he pressed 
her hands to his breast, “is suh strong un’ big un’ fine 
thet I don’t see how ut cun fail. But I don’t ask yuh 
tuh say a single word now. Yuh ain’t goin’ tuh tie 
y’urself up ’ith a promise jest when y’u’re goin’ out 

into the big world — but ” his voice was hoarse with 

emotion now — “can’t yuh give me a sign — now?” 

Her eyes had long since been cast down, her head 
inclined, as they stood closely face to face. She raised 
the dark, grave eyes and looked fearlessly, searchingly 
into his. No word came from her lips but — her hands 
closed upon his in a long pressure. His heart leaped 
within him. It was a sign, indeed! From Rose Gra- 
ham it was a silent pledge ! 

“Girl, girl, little girl, I cun fight all hell now un’ 
win !” 

And this was their goodbye. They preferred it thus, 
alone amid the pure, white, moonlit silence of the eter- 
nal mountains, so typical of constancy; unchangeable, 
everlasting. 

The entire party rose early to witness the sunrise. 
During the night had come a chinook wind, a quick 
*haw and again, just before daylight, a sudden freeze. 
'The effect was magical. The freshly fallen, loose 
snow had all but disappeared and from the shapely 
forms of the pines, now again in their blue-black gar- 
ments, there came a wondrous spectacle. From thou- 
sands upon thousands of needles, at the ends of which 
clung the clear, pure diamonds of ice-drops, struck 
240 


'Ben ©Harman 


scintillating flashes of color. The noble trees stood 
proudly bedecked in these jewels of nature, ruby red, 
malachite green, pyrites yellow, covellite blue; pend- 
ent, swinging, vibrating, dazzling. Thus these virgins 
of the forest, enriched and adorned by a million lam- 
bent, trembling, crystal jewels stood waiting the direct 
glance of the King of Day. And when he fully ap- 
peared, as if charged suddenly from an invisible dy- 
namo they burst into a million points of iridescent, 
prismatic fire, palpitating with joy and pride, to greet 
their mighty Lord! 

While the green-bronze eyes of Sibyl Lorimer al- 
ternately watched the scene — and Ben — and Rose, the 
dark eyes of Rose shone with a soft and brilliant light, 
noticed, too, by Sibyl, as if all this beauty was re- 
flected into and absorbed by them. And it was so 
whether she looked upon this glorious flash of nature 
in her regal garments or rested upon a tall, splendid 
figure that stood like a statue, facing the East, golden 
head bared, his broad shoulders thrown back, his 
strong face rapt in contemplation of the magnificent 
scene and — of a wonderful vision within. 

Their real parting had been alone. At the last mo- 
ment came only a strong, reassuring handclasp, con- 
firming, thrilling, but a light danced in her eyes as in 
his. 

“Well,” he smiled happily, humorously, “as the fel- 
low said who hung to a root half way up a precipice, 
drop me a line.” 


241 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A CHALLENGE 

The Lorimers remained at Diorite. Dick Grant ap- 
plied himself industriously to his paper, which was 
making a name for itself, its picturesque, brilliant ar- 
ticles being copied frequently in the big eastern pa- 
pers. The Professor lived and studied alone, teaching 
his daily school and following his researches at night. 

Although the weather was now bad and snow was 
piled on snow, Ben was punctual and regular in his 
visits, making the trip on skis. The steady application 
to his books and the Professor’s tuition were occa- 
sionally relieved by talks of Rose and such news 
from her as the old student saw fit to convey to him. 

It was with peculiar sensations that Ben listened to 
descriptions of the city, the routine of the conserva- 
tory of music, the university life, the lectures, social 
events and public occasions, recitals and plays. Rose’s 
facile pen, probably a little more facile with the 
thought that much of what she was writing might be 
read or heard by Ben, pictured all these events and 
her daily tasks so vividly that her readers seemed to 
live them with her ; especially the Professor, to whom 
it was as a breath of fresh life long denied. 

At times his pathetically intense interest in the re- 
citals of college life touched Ben’s sympathy, for he 
knew the old man to be bowed down with regret and 
the weight of lost opportunities in that atmosphere the 
letters breathed. He was indeed a pitiful and lone- 
some figure, the slight, prematurely aged student, 
242 


15en COarman 


without Rose’s help; Rose, the strong, the faithful, 
the practical, the loving. 

Once in a great while a large, white, square enve- 
lope would come to Ben ; treasures to be read many 
times and finally to be answered with great effort and 
painstaking care. They were simple letters of narra- 
tion and description that, so far as anything touching 
sentiment was concerned, might have been read by all 
the world. The personal note was eliminated, except- 
ing an occasional question and answer as to his prog- 
ress. But much could be read between the lines by the 
eyes of youth and love when looking through the magic 
glasses of hope — and memory. 

But now came a startling change in the Professor. 
He seemed literally to grow smaller; to become ner- 
vous, silent, moody, despondent; moving about as 
though he carried a great weight upon his rounded 
shoulders and upon his mind as well. Ben was wor- 
ried and puzzled. He confided his anxiety to Dick 
and they together on more than one occasion sought 
unsuccessfully to draw from the old scholar some hint 
of his trouble. 

He no longer gave Ben news of Rose. On the score 
of ill-health he excused himself from continuing their 
nights of study and consultation and thereafter Ben 
came to the house only from a sense of duty, now and 
then, to look after his welfare. Meanwhile he re- 
quested Dick to also watch the father of Rose as much 
as he could. The little, old man seemed to grasp at 
Dick’s companionship more insistently than ever as 
the days wore on. But deeper sank the feeble scholar 
until he reached a listless, abstracted, apathetic state 
wherein he seemed to permanently settle. Ben thought 
of writing Rose of her father’s condition but on sec- 
ond thought concluded not to alarm her unless he be- 
came physically ill. 

The last days of December passed and work at the 
243 


TBen MJatman 


mine was suspended. They had made quick prog- 
ress with the machinery and two shifts of men and 
the shaft was now down one hundred and fifty feet. 
But it had exhausted their capital with a rush. Ben 
and Dan, therefore, returned to their former employ- 
ment at the Blue Bell, with the idea of earning and 
saving sufficient to do several months more work at 
the mine in the summer. They believed from certain 
indications that fifty or sixty feet more of depth would 
uncover ore bodies of magnitude. 

Ben’s study was transferred from the cabin at the 
mine to a room at the hotel, as the Blue Bell property 
was almost within the town limits. Dick had the room 
next door and Dan was next to Dick. Gerald and 
Sibyl’s rooms were at the other end of the main cen- 
ter hall. 

It testified strongly to Ben’s determination and will 
power that, as well as he liked company and sociability, 
he applied himself to his books as persistently as at 
the mine. Once a week he allowed himself an evening 
of relaxation, a talk with the boys, a game of social 
cards and, sometimes, in the parlor of the hotel, a front 
room up stairs, in company with others or alone as the 
case might be, he would listen to Sibyl’s playing and 
singing with much wonder and appreciation. He and 
Lorimer spoke when they met and that was all — and 
too much so far as their individual preference directed. 
Then, too, a certain fear of Ben caused Lorimer to 
avoid him and to slink from his presence. He did not 
know at what moment Ben might somehow learn of 
his dastardly attack on Rose. 

On a January night the temperature in his room be- 
coming too cold to work, the wind piercing the building 
and the tiny stove with which his room was provided 
being entirely inadequate for its Herculean task, Ben 
went down to the public office where an exceedingly 
large stove made the atmosphere comfortable. 

244 


“Ben (KHarman 


vision of the lunch, both insisting on increasing the 
respective share of the other. 

“Pretty good, considering. I see someone has made 
use of our cabin. Some poor devil caught in a bliz- 
zard, most likely. We expect that. But whoever this 
one was, he wasn’t right; he didn’t clean the fryin’ 
pan after he used it.” 

Sibyl endeavored to look her sympathy with him at 
this heinous crime. “Why didn’t you work the prop- 
erty this winter?” 

“No money. Dan and I went to work at the Blue 
Bell to get in shape to do a little more work this sum- 
mer.” 

She looked at him curiously. “Is that the way you 
have to do? How much would it take to sink this 
shaft to the depth where you expect ore?” 

“About five thousand dollars.” 

“How much have you?” 

Ben laughed, partly at the facts, partly at the di- 
rectness, the audacity of her questioning. “Somewhere 
in the neighborhood of eight hundred combined capi- 
tal.” 

“How do you expect to get the rest ?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“How much more would you probably need after 
you got your ore to be able to ship at a profit ?” 

He rather enjoyed her astonishment at things, as 
they were and as they were not. “Ten thousand more,” 
he laughed again. 

“It seems to me you miners carry a large stock of 
optimism.” 

“It’s the biggest asset in the business.” 

“Have you no plan at all for raising money?” 

“I’ve got an idea — a forlorn hope.” 

“Ben Warman,” she asked, “what would you say,” 
her striking eyes watched his face closely though 
guardedly, “to my furnishing the money, say fifteen or 

253 


“Ben MJarman 


twenty thousand dollars to see this thing through?” 

“I would say no,” was the prompt response. 
“Couldn’t think of ut. Yuh might lose ut. Can’t give 
yuh any security. This is only a prospect.” 

“Supposing I would be willing to loan it without se- 
curity to you personally ?” 

Ben looked directly into the face and eyes of his fair 
companion, this strange girl from the East, for a long 
moment. “Why would you do that?” 

“Because — I think this will be a mine and — because 
I am able to, easily, and — because I — I believe in you.” 

“You believe in me?” he asked slowly, half puzzled. 

“I do,” she responded, returning his gaze calmly. 

“But, it ain’t business,” he objected. “I couldn’t 
think of ut. Wouldn’t be right.” 

“You refuse?” 

“I can’t do anything else, Miss Sibyl. There’s no 
interest for sale if you wanted to buy a part interest 
outright. As for such a loan, it’s impossible. But I’m 
sure thankful for the offer and for — you believing in 
me. 

They arose. “Now,” he said briskly, “I’m going to 
do some tall walking and climbing around all over the 
mountain. It would be entirely too hard for you.” 

“Just as you say; you know best. I’ll take a little 
walk after a while around here.” 

“Don’t get far from the cabins; it’s easy to get lost.” 

She smiled him a bright adieu, as he turned after 
walking a short distance. 

Ben became closely interested in his examination. 
All else was forgotten in the enthusiasm of his quest. 
When he finally looked up it was to see the sky was 
overcast and a cold wind had sprung up. Climbing 
out on a jutting point where he could get a good view 
to the southwest he discovered that a heavy snowstorm 
was advancing rapidly. He was four miles from 
camp and it was between five and six o’clock. 

254 


IBeit MJarman 


Muttering against himself for his carelessness, as he 
thought of Sibyl, he started for the camp, with long, 
powerful strides which increased in speed as snow 
began to fall thickly, then to swirl and sweep about 
him. A half hour before dark he reached the camp. 
To his surprise Sibyl was not in sight. To his calls 
there came no answer. With dismay he noticed that 
her jacket was still tied to the back of the saddle which 
lay as it was thrown down outside the stable door. 

It was not extremely cold as yet, but he knew the 
storm would develop into a blizzard a little later. He 
now became alarmed for Sibyl. He must act quickly 
although he had no idea in which direction she had 
gone. Even the faint trail she might have left to indi- 
cate her course from the cabin was now snow-covered. 
He began an ever widening, circuitous route around 
the camp, hallooing and listening at short intervals. 
Dusk arrived. 

His paces became quicker, his circles widened. He 
called almost constantly now, listening intently, and 
at last drew his Forty-Five and fired several times in 
rapid succession. This, he reasoned, she ought to hear 
if in any reasonable distance. It would at least let her 
know where he was. 

An ordinary man would long since have been ex- 
hausted, Ben but quickened his stride again. He 
cursed himself over and over for his carelessness and 
with fresh vigor when he remembered that he might 
have started a fire in the clearing at the camp, whose 
smoke, at first, and then its light would have given 
direction to Sibyl and himself. It was now dark, the 
wind was strong and intensely cold, the snow was 
driven more thickly. If he did not find her she would 
surely perish from cold and exposure during the night. 
The thought nerved him to renewed and tremendous 
efforts. 

At midnight a reeling, snow-covered form, heaving 

255 


'Ben barman 


sobbing breaths of exhaustion, stumbled against the 
door of the Columbine cook house, crashed it in and 
fell, with a wrapped human figure in his arms, upon 
the rude bunk bedded with dried pine boughs. 

For fhjg'^finutes Ben lay motionless, soundless, save 
for the hoarse, rasping, convulsive breathing that tore 
his heaving chest. But his work was not yet done. 
With hands stiff and unfeeling he managed at last to 
find matches and light a lantern, then a fire in the cook 
stove. There was no wood but he tore down some 
shelving and the side pieces of the bunk. It was not 
much of a fire, but a fire ; at least they were sheltered 
from the blasts and he could give her attention. He 
heard the horses whinny in the stable. It had been 
this sound which had reached his ears and made him 
aware of the proximity of the camp. Save for that 
sound he would have missed the buildings by twenty 
feet ! 

His companion now clairped all his attention. There 
was no bedding or blanket. An old battered coat, 
however, hung on a peg. 

‘‘It is something, anyway, and at hand,” he wheezed. 
Out into the storm again he went and brought in her 
saddle, tearing the jacket from its thongs. 

“Here’s luck at last,” he exclaimed, as he seized 
an old whiskey flask in which a half inch of its con- 
tents yet remained. He set it carefully in reach and 
again applied himself to the task of reviving Sibyl. 

She lay white and still. A quick pressure of his 
ear to her chest relieved him of a great fear that life 
was already extinct. Her hands were not frozen, 
thanks to the deep pockets of his coat. Her riding 
boots were incrusted with ice and snow. Without hesi- 
tation he went grimly on, pulling the leather strings 
loose as rapidly as his fingers would act, jerking one 
boot off and then the other. With his knife he slit the 
feet of her stockings. After rubbing them vigorously 


'Beit (Kaarmati 


with snow and with the coarse cloth of the old coat he 
finally wrapped it about her feet. 

Seizing the whiskey flask he gathered her tightly in 
his arms. He could not but note the perfect, long 
contour of her face, the delicate, straight nose, the 
curving lips, the high, arched eyebrows, the golden 
hair wet with melting snow. A deep sigh raised and 
lowered her breast, the white lips became more life- 
like and then the amber eyes opened into his; won- 
deringly, at first, then with full realization. 

The flask was now at her lips and she heard a rasp- 
ing voice say: “Drink!” It felt like ice in her mouth, 
it seared her throat, it burned within her. She sank 
down again weakly. Lifting her once more he seated 
himself in a chair close to the old cook stove and set 
her feet, still wrapped in the old coat, in the oven. 

Soon the fire relieved the bitterness of the cold. 
She was still enveloped in his coat. He succeeded in 
removing it and putting on her own jacket and again 
wrapped her in the heavy folds of his rough coat. She 
did not seem to be able to sit alone in the chair, so 
he seated himself holding her in his arms like a child. 

Slowly now the currents of blood moved in her ar- 
teries, her heart began to beat strongly, the blood re- 
turned to her lips, her hands warmed and the golden 
light returned to those peculiar eyes; her body soft- 
ened and relaxed. The fire of the liquor, the heat of 
the warming stove, the returned warmth of his body, 
combined, seemed to revive her quickly now. She 
stirred now and then with returning vigor. 

“Shall I put yuh down now?” he asked. 

“No, no. Let me rest this way; I’m so tired. The 
whiskey has made my head a little light and dizzy. I 
am not suffering at all now. I was not frozen, though 
I expected my feet would be.” She glanced at her 
boots hung up behind the stove to thaw and dry. “Fm 
all right now — and very comfortable. Just weak.” 

257 


15m (KBarmatt 


A flush appeared in her cheeks, her eyes shone bril- 
liantly and thrilled him as she lay perfectly motionless 
in his arms, smiling her gratitude. Finally, drawing 
a deep breath, she bade him tell her his experience 
after he found her and she had lost consciousness. 
He did so, minimizing the difficulties and danger. 

“What time did you get in here ?” 

“About twelve o’clock, I think.” 

“Four hours in that storm ! And you carried me all 
that time !” 

“No; I dropped you several times,” he laughed, his 
white teeth gleaming humorously. 

“Ben Warman, I know what you have gone through 
for the last six hours. It takes a man and a fighter 
to do what you have done. It is needless to say that 
you have saved my life again. I foolishly wandered 
too far in spite of your warning, got turned around 
and supposed I was walking toward the camp when in 
reality I was leaving it. Then came the clouds, the 
wind, the snow and finally darkness and an awful ex- 
haustion until I sank down. After a while I thought 
I heard your voice and tried to answer, twice. Then 
I knew nothing.” 

With a little shuddering exclamation in which were 
mingled horror, fear and despair at the memory, re- 
lief and gratitude for her present safety, apparently, 
she put her arms about his neck and, to his consterna- 
tion, kissed him. He gently tried to disengage her 
arms, thinking it was due to the whiskey. She saw 
the look in his face. 

“No, it is not the whiskey. It is — gratitude. I am 
myself, alive, thanks to you.” Her lambent, tawny 
eyes shot a thrill through and through him. The subtle 
influence that had always emanated from them and 
from her person and personality, and which he had 
vaguely resisted, now flowed strongly from her every 
look and feature. The very tips of her fingers as they 
258 


“Bctt KHarmatt 


touched his cheek seemed to invoke currents of mag- 
netism. But suddenly a look of consternation and 
fear crossed her countenance and looked from her 
eyes. 

“What’s the matter now ; what is it ?” 

“When will we reach home?” 

“About an hour and a half after daylight; why?” 

She clasped her hands over her face. “All night! 
All night ! What will they say ?” 

“Who say? What?” 

“Oh, don’t you understand? Don’t you under- 
stand ?” 

“No.” A vague alarm seized him at the evidence of 
her deep emotion. Puzzled, he waited for her to pro- 
ceed, more than ever convinced that the strong liquor 
had affected her. 

“Tell me, what’s troubling you?” he asked presently, 
soothingly. 

She looked down. Her eyes hidden, her face took 
on the old expression of some young, girlish devotee 
at prayerful meditation. 

“Scandal,” she replied faintly. 

Whether artlessness or art, natural or the perfec- 
tion of acting, her tone and manner and words all 
now slowly disclosed to his mind her fear and mean- 
ing. 

“You mean tu tell me,” he exclaimed, his compre- 
hension gradually widening to the farther reaches of 
the results of the night’s experience, “that — that folks 
will talk about you — about us?” 

“Yes, oh, yes; you do not know the way the out- 
side world will look at this. Your western people are 
more charitable, more unsuspicious, more sensible; 
but my people, my friends in the East, especially, I 
shall never be able to get away from the sidelong 
looks, the lifted eyebrows, the whispered remarks. It 
means stigma, disgrace!” 

259 


“Ben MJarman 


“Where’s the disgrace ? It’s a plain accident. 
Nothing wrong. We’ll explain it all, don’t you worry 
none,” he observed encouragingly. 

“I know it’s all right of course, but it can’t be 
explained to others. We can never explain away the 
— the fact. I know, I know.” 

He stared at the opposite wall of the cabin. Back 
in his memory came the outlines of a story he had 
read during the past winter. It was a work of fiction 
which, yes, which Sibyl herself had given him to read. 
Somewhat of a similar situation had been depicted 
therein and the only solution was 

“Great God!” he whispered under his breath. 

That the girl had not exaggerated the results, the 
disgrace to herself, he reasoned, was proven conclu- 
sively by that book. Her every word was now con- 
firmed to him. The book had been written by an east- 
ern man of eastern people. His own, straightfor- 
ward, honest mind, with its atmosphere of the plain, 
rugged West, had not at first grasped the idea as 
Sibyl spoke. The inference seemed foolish to him — 
but he knew he was ignorant of such things. She 
knew. She had just told him. The recollection of 
the book verified her statements and fears. It must 
be so. In that book, he thought again, there had been 
but one escape for the woman, one method of salva- 
tion for her name, one thing for a gentleman to do. 
The man had asked the woman to marry him and im- 
mediately announced their engagement! 

His mind projected itself into the future, it circled 
the round of possibilities, it saw plainly the terrible 
consequences to him. He searched in his mind wildly 
for some avenue of escape. But he found none — for a 
gentleman — a man ! He looked again at the silent, suf- 
fering girl, lying, in what must be from her attitude 
and so much of her expression as he could see in her 
half-averted, half-hidden face, quiet misery. 

260 


'Ben Eastman 


The boys, Dick, Dan and Rud, together with sev- 
eral new traveling men, who had come in that day on 
tie stage nearly frozen, were congregated in the office. 

For an hour or two Ben joined in the small talk, 
tht reminiscences and repartee that circulated. His 
eyes had been twinkling and a repressed smile twitched 
at the corners of his mouth for some little time. Final- 
ly hi yawned, rose and gravely proceeded to pull on his 
big, Heavy, fur overcoat that hung on the rack. Slowly 
he buttoned it and then carefully put on his high-cut 
overshoes and clamped the buckles securely. 

All vere watching him curiously by this time and 
Dan muttered in his beard : ‘‘What the devil’s he up 
tuh no\^?” 

Ben tGpped it all off by pulling a fur cap down over 
his ears and, lastly, turning up the huge collar of the 
fur coat. 

“Good-night,” he remarked carelessly. 

“W-W-Where you g-g-goin’ this time uh n-n-night?” 
queried Hank Gibbs at length, overcome by his curi- 
osity. 

“Why, Hank,” Ben drawled, “it ain’t early. I’m 
goin’ tuh bed.” I 

There was a dead silence. Then a roar burst forth. 
Hank fizzed, spluttered and — went out — extinguished, 
but when the hilarity had finally subsided so he could 
be heard he threw up his hands in surrender. “Ben, 
you win. You g-g-git a b-b-bigger s-s-stove.” 

Early the next morning a prospector came in from 
an unusually early trip from some point in the hills, 
clad in fur from head to foot, covered with snow and 
ice, while from his mustaches hung two long icicles. 
Ben glanced up at the newcomer as he hugged the 
stove and then asked in a genial, companionable, fel- 
low-sufferer voice: “Which room did you have last 
night?” # 4 ; 

Once more Hank’s hands went up in token of sur- 
245 


Tgen (HJatmatt 


render and he exclaimed: “You g-g-git it toda r , 
Ben. I cave/’ 

On an evening in February Ben, in company wi:h 
Dick, stepped into Conley’s saloon. A discussion bad 
evidently been going on, he soon learned, of which he 
and Bart Conley were the subjects. Just how it aad 
started nobody knew. It had in fact been quieth set 
on foot by Colvert and Shifty Sam — who had over- 
looked his punishment by Conley for the larger good — 
and gain of their continued association. Theje was 
nothing he could do anyway and discretion was clearly 
the better part of valor. They had acted through cer- 
tain henchmen and hangers on. It was as to the rela- 
tive merits of Conley and Warman as fighting men. 
Partizans of each had taken up the controversy until 
it was now in full flame, and, as Conley stepped from 
his office, having been informed that Warman had 
come in, a self-constituted committee, adroitly egged 
on, addressed him: 

“Are you willing to meet Warman in the ring? 
There’s lots of money anxious to git into action on the 
result.” 

Conley’s response was made by sauntering over to 
Ben. “The boys are proposing that we meet in the 
ring. I understand you have considerable reputation 
and experience. There’s a little matter we may as well 
fight out now as any time, as you’ve intimated once or 
twice. I’ll make you this proposition. We meet for 
twenty rounds or a finish, the loser to drop his interest 
in the copper claims and leave the country. Are you 
game ?” 

Had Ben been suddenly confronted by a grizzly bear 
at that moment he could not have been more surprised. 
It then flashed upon him that it was a plot to get him 
in the ring where, by some hook, literally, or some 
crook, Conley could kill him without being called to 
account by the law ; or, to brand him a coward before 
246 


15en 0x3aonan 


this crowd of enemies and friends. He saw that his 
own friends, knowing of his prowess, his reputation as 
a fighter, and remembering his just cause for hatred of 
Conley, had taken it for granted that he would wel- 
come the opportunity, and had urged the matter for- 
ward. In his old days his answer would have been 
given instantly. 

Now, he thought of many things — and he hesitated 
while he thought. Conley was eyeing him defiantly, 
playing to the crowd, whose good graces he was en- 
deavoring to regain, having lost ground with them the 
night of the famous poker game. The crowd, noticing 
Ben’s hesitation, began to murmur significantly. 

The veins of passion began to stand out on Ben’s 
neck and face. His hands twitched, his face flushed, 
his eyes grew gray. 

“Oh, well, if you’re afraid to stake anything on it, 
we’ll fight to see who’s the best man. Are you game ?” 

Conley well knew that Ben Warman was not afraid 
of him, stake or no stake. But by this move he could 
either get him in the ring to kill him, as Ben had sur- 
mised, or to humiliate him if he stuck to his new reso- 
lutions and life. It was adding insult to injury. The 
covert sneer stung to the quick, to the core. With all 
the pent-up wrath and passion of his passionate being 
Ben desired to meet this man before him in battle. 
His blood jumped and sang at the thought. 

For an instant the fighting spirit gleamed in his 
eyes and Conley thought his proposition would be ac- 
cepted. The wild blood mounted — and fell; he re- 
membered, he recalled, he thought. His face went 
white with the strain, but with a mighty effort Ben 
conquered himself — knowing that it would disappoint 
his friends and subject him to the charge of coward- 
ice! Though every word stabbed his own vitals he 
said quietly: 

“No, I won’t fight yuh — now.” 

247 


15ett (MJacmatt 


With a short, sarcastic laugh, and a contemptuous 
wave of his diamonded hand, Conley turned his back, 
saying: “It’s one thing to work up a reputation and 
another to come through and make good. I’ve seen 
four-flushers before.” 

Through the red light of seething passion that en- 
veloped his vision, Ben somehow, with the assistance of 
Dick Grant, reached the door and stepped out, hearing 
behind him the derisive murmurs of the crowd. It 
was a mighty victory for Ben, this, and Dick wrung 
his hand. 

“Ben, old man, it’s the greatest thing you ever did. 
Hang on. Beat it down. Why, man, it was magnifi- 
cent !” He continued as they walked to the hotel : 
“Don’t mind that riff-raff back there. You’re a win- 
ner in the biggest fight you ever had !” 

Somewhere in the brain of the white-faced man at 
Dick’s side something was recalled. He heard the 
words plainly now in her voice. “Vincit qui se vincit.” 
“He conquers who conquers himself.” 

The strain that held taut his every fibre was still un- 
relaxed when they reached their rooms and he was 
able only to say, briefly and hoarsely, “Good-night, 
Dick. Thanks.” 

The torture he underwent that night his best friends 
never knew, though they dimly surmised. He ran the 
gamut of regret, of self-contempt, mortification, ha- 
tred ; cursed himself for the loss of an opportunity, not 
of his own seeking, of meeting the saloon dictator ; 
writhed again with passion at the remembrance of 
the scene in the saloon; flushed with shame as he 
thought of the astonishment and dismay of his miner 
friends; mistaken friends, rough, not understanding, 
but sincere; twisted about in the ignominy of sus- 
pected cowardice, and finally, towards morning, his 
eyes having refused to close in sleep, tramped out in 
the cold upon the open plain. 

248 


'Ben MJatman 


It was two hours before he returned, he had covered 
many miles, but somewhere, somehow during that time, 
under the influence of memory, thoughts of Rose, his 
own new, innate sense of higher things, the contem- 
plation of the peaceful dawn, the lesson of nature with 
her quiet, not brawling, power, he had reconquered 
and smiled at himself as he remembered the almost un- 
controllable impulse he had had during the night to re- 
turn to the saloon and announce his acceptance of the 
challenge. 

He felt his feet resting now upon the rock of true in- 
sight and conviction, upon principle. Save for an oc- 
casional rankling in after days, he dismissed the sub- 
ject, serene, satisfied, self-possessed. 


249 


CHAPTER XXIX 


IN THE COLUMBINE CABIN 

March, April and May passed uneventfully save for 
the new and permanent delights and satisfaction of 
Ben’s book work. 

On several occasions Ben had been in Sibyl’s com- 
pany and found her intuitively sympathetic and agree- 
able, a good conversationalist. Inquiring into his 
studies she took a lively interest in his progress and 
rendered him decided assistance on several knotty 
points and perplexing matters, although Dick was now 
his standby in his studies, for which he was grateful. 
She seemed to understand him. Her music was always 
a delight and Ben found himself looking forward with 
pleasure to their talks in the hotel parlor, sometimes 
ii\ the company of others, sometimes alone, and to her 
playing and singing. 

As spring advanced they sometimes, generally at 
Sibyl’s suggestion, strolled along the sinuous banks of 
the Lost Dog, along whose steep slopes they plucked 
the yellow Deer Tongue Lily that sprang up along the 
edges of the receding snowbanks. Then followed 
more extended, though short, trips into the foothills on 
horseback. Or Ben would direct their journey out on 
•the plain he would some day put under irrigation 
if 

Again she thrived wonderfully from the exercise and 
outdoor life until her winter’s pallor disappeared, the 
red of health was in her cheeks, her tall, slender form 
grew virile and vigorous. 

He taught her, at her request, many practical accom- 
250 


TStn ftaanttatt 


plishments; to ride properly, to tie a rope that would 
hold and yet that would easily untie, to shoot with 
both revolver and rifle, to manage a vicious horse, to 
know the good points of her various mounts, to follow 
a trail. She learned quickly, surprised him with her 
vivacity and girlishness, attracted him with her subtle 
charm, her courage and her tenacity of purpose. She 
seemed to court the minor hardships of long walks and 
rides, and bore sun, heat, wind, rain or cold with 
cheerful, even laughing, fortitude. 

On a day in May, when the sun had beaten back 
the snow from the sides of the foothills and pressed it 
some distance up the mountainsides, Ben announced to 
Sybil that he would take a day off at the Blue Bell and 
go up for a trip of inspection to his own mine. 

“It seems to me,” she laughed, “you might be cour- 
teous enough to invite me to ride up with you. I’ve 
often asked you to ride with me.” 

“The ride is not a long one but I shall want to make 
a thorough inspection of the plant and perhaps do a 
little prospecting around up there. I want to study the 
ground. It will take all day. Don’t think you could 
stand it,” he smiled. 

“Haven’t I told you I’ve become an Amazon? I 
shall certainly feel badly if you do not invite me.” 
And she swept him a reproachful glance from her am- 
ber eyes. 

“Can you get ready in fifteen minutes?” 

“I can get ready in ten minutes.” 

“All right. I’ll go to the stables for the horses.” 

True to her word she stepped from the hotel door 
as Ben came up with the horses, picturesque in her 
riding habit, felt hat perched jauntily on her golden 
hair. She carried a jacket which they strapped on be- 
hind the saddle. They presented a glowing picture of 
youth, beauty and virility as they rode away. 

It was a magnificent morning. Under the exhil- 

251 


'Ben (H3atman 


aration of the ride, the warm sunshine, the bracing 
air, Sibyl seemed fairly to expand and glow. Her lips 
were hued with the red of the rose, her sinuous figure 
radiated energy, her musical laugh was vibrant with 
life and spirit. With a color in her erstwhile marble 
cheeks that throbbed and ebbed and surged again and 
finally glowed steadily suffusing her face, her beauty 
was startlingly enhanced. She had come to Diorite an 
inert, cold statue of perfection ; now she was a liying, 
radiant, glowing woman. Ben could not help but note 
that wondrous transformation. 

She wisely employed herself in rambling about the 
camp and strolling in the deep, green pines during the 
rest of the morning, after their arrival at the Colum- 
bine, leaving Ben to the work of his inspection. He 
looked over all the machinery and for two hours 
worked with oil and rags removing from various parts 
of the hoist and compressor the accumulated tarnish 
and rust of the winter. 

As he finally finished his labors, his clothing dirt- 
covered, his hands black with rust and machine oil, a 
smudge on his right cheek, Sibyl appeared and an- 
nounced it was noon and that she had spread out their 
lunch. 

.“If you will kindly go down to the creek and re- 
move that dirt and oil, we’ll proceed to devour our 
meal. I’m as hungry as a wolf ; and,” she continued 
smiling, “don’t forget that beauty spot on your right 
cheek.” 

He soon returned, face and hands and cheek cleaned, 
his blond clusters tousled hopelessly. It was pleasant 
indeed as they lunched in the open. The snow-round- 
ed domes of the mountain chain looked like distant 
clusters of balloons at rest in the camping ground of 
an aerial army. 

“How do you find things here?” she asked pres- 
ently after they had laughingly auarreled over the di- 
252 


15tn (KHarman 


The long, slim, perfect hands almost covered the 
face. A mighty pity for her rose in his breast — a 
great condemnation of himself — for it was his fault, 
this situation. 

Fate had decreed that he must offer, at least, sacri- 
fice of his own hopes, his love for Rose, all that he 
had looked forward to during the past year of awak- 
ening and struggle. This solution that burned in his 
mind — it might after all be ludicrous to her, unac- 
ceptable, unthinkable. It might be, he thought, hope 
springing up strongly at the idea, that it was an alter- 
native she could not bring herself to choose. There 
was such a vast difference between them, their rear- 
ing, their circumstances, their education. 

But, if he did this thing, he must be prepared to 
carry it through, he must be game, he must even try 
to convince her that he really loved her! if she con- 
sented. Again he stared at the blank wall. 

In moments of tremulous stress and issue it is a 
curious thing that the human mind sees and notes trivi- 
alities. So now he saw the shadowy form of a moun- 
tain rat crouched on the topmost log, just under the 
roof. Its bright eyes watched him as though it too 
were curious to know what he would do under the 
circumstances; whether he would stand the gaff like 
a true man — a gentleman! No, there was no other 
way, it had to be done and be done right. His voice 
was calm and quiet, his face expressing nothing of the 
still agony within him. 

“Sibyl.” 

“What is it?” 

“Do you — do you suppose that you could care for 
a man — like me?” 

Her arms slowly, in answer, slipped about his neck 
and contracted quickly. His face seemed a trifle grey 
now. 

“Sibyl, you've — you've always had a great attrac- 
261 


15en OHarman 


tion for me from the time you stepped off the stage 
at the hotel. Sibyl, will you marry me?” 

She lifted herself and kissed him full and long 
upon the lips, her eyes half closing and thrilling him 
with their lambent gleams, burning him with their 
golden glow, surcharging his whole being. Suddenly 
placing her hands upon his shoulders she pushed him 
back and looked long again into his eyes, her own 
lighted and merging into golden flame that almost 
compelled by their mixed color of brown and green 
and wine and a something deeper, an answering flame 
of blue to leap from his. 

“I love you, Ben, I love you, I love you. I have 
loved you from the moment my eyes rested on you 
first. You have saved my life twice since then, but I 
loved you at that moment utterly, as I love you now.” 

Again she clung about his neck and kissed him long 
and fervently. The hounds of passion leaped up — 
against the wall of remembrance — and fell back. He 
rose quickly, placed her in the chair and strode out 
into the storm. The piercing needle-like snow darted 
into his face, the biting cold bathed him. In a few 
moments he entered the room, took his coat from 
Sibyl and went to the stable to look after the horses. 
Returning, they found some fragments of lunch and 
ate. He had also brought in from the stable the sad- 
dle blankets and now bade her lie down and cov- 
ered her carefully with the old coat and heavy 
blankets. 

“Now go to sleep,” he commanded, forcing a smile. 
She obeyed and very soon sank into a heavy slum- 
ber, a smile curving her perfect lips. 

Ben had broken up a few more boards and now re- 
plenished the fire. With his feet against the edge of 
the oven door, his eyes, fixed and gray, settled on the 
blank wall opposite him. When he had stared for a 
half hour two short words came from the straight, 
262 


TBen 22Jarman 


drawn lips: “Great God!” And there he sat mo- 
tionless until dawn. 

Half way up the mountain as the sun rose, the 
storm having cleared, they met the rescuing party — 
Grant, Lorimer, Drillard, Burns and Gibbs. 

When they mingled it was Ben who took command 
of the situation. His were the first words. In firm, 
happy tones he addressed Gerald Lorimer, looking 
squarely into his eyes : 

“Here she is, safe and sound. Take care of her. 
She’s promised to be my wife.” 


263 


CHAPTER XXX 


A LETTER ON THE TRAIL 

“And you still persist in your statement that your 
engagement to Warman is really serious?” 

Gerald Lorimer paused in his pacing of the floor 
in Sibyl’s room. Sibyl, almost recovered from her 
exposure to the elements, reclined languorously on a 
couch. Although she was weak and woefully tired 
still her eyes shone with a fervent light that betok- 
ened no weariness of spirit but rather exaltation — or 
exultation. 

“I certainly do. Why shouldn’t I?” she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders as though it were use- 
less to argue the question. “If you persist I am off 
for Chicago to-day. I was going anyway soon. I 
will not return until I have won. This — incident — 
of yours, and your engagement ought to settle it. 
I had strong hopes without it. I have a letter in my 
pocket from her father — in my favor.” 

She studied him a moment intently. “I’d like to 
know the means by which you got it.” 

“Never mind how I got it, it’s genuine all 
right.” 

“I don’t doubt it’s genuine; but — the pressure.” 

“Sibyl, I really don’t understand it fully myself yet. 
Conley and Trixie Howard,” he did not notice the 
flush that came to her face at the mention of Trixie’s 
name, “have arranged this for me, somehow, for some 
reason. I guess I’ve paid enough for it in good, hard 
cash,” he finished crossly, then laughed weakly. “By 
the way, I’ll have to trouble you for another thou- 
264 


15ett (DOarman 


sand. My affairs are tied up yet so that I can’t 
draw just now. I need this for my Chicago trip. 
Some stocks of mine will soon be sold, though at a? 
loss, confound it, and I’ll repay you. How much does 
this make?” 

“Nine thousand,” she answered briefly. 

“Well! I didn’t suppose it was so much.” 

Sibyl silently wrote out a check and handed it to 
him. 

Ben slept like a log throughout the day. When 
Dick knocked on his door at five o’clock he had been 
lying awake for an hour — thinking. At all hazards 
he must now carry the matter through like a gentle- 
man, a man of honor, according to the code of the 
East. He had fought the fight all over again. If 
Sibyl, recovered, her normal self, still clung to the 
idea no sign from him would come but what it was 
the greatest desire of his heart. If she should have 
changed her mind, or would in the future, he would 
accept his deliverance without comment. 

“Ben, what in the world does this mean?” 

“What?” 

“You know what I mean, this engagement to Sibyl 
Lorimer ?” 

“What does any engagement mean?” He laughed 
a sonorous roll. 

“You can’t mean it.” 

“Look here, Dick, you’re my friend and you mean 
well but don’t say that again,” he responded quickly 
with a perfectly assumed restraint of anger that 
sent the sorely puzzled Dick into greater bewilder- 
ment. As Ben washed, shaved and dressed, joking, 
laughing, with every evidence of good spirits, not 
overdone, Dick studied him and listened to a recital 
of the night’s adventure. 

“I — I understand — I’ve been told — she is rich.” 

Ben turned a piercing look upon him but concluded, 
265 


T5t tt barman 


apparently, that he meant nothing personal or deroga- 
tory to his motives. 

'‘That’s one thing that makes it — hard.” 

At supper Dick was abstracted. During the after- 
supper cigar he was silent. When he wended his way 
up to the Herald office he shook his head stubbornly. 
“I never did like that woman.” 

Sibyl had her supper sent up. It was really be- 
cause of her physical indisposition. She would not 
have hesitated to face the curious eyes in the dining 
room. To Ben’s message of inquiry she sent word 
for him to come up at once. 

She was lying indolently on the couch, clad in a 
clinging, lounging robe of tawny material that out- 
lined her long, curved figure. Her head of gold was 
splendidly disarranged. She smiled her welcome 
without attempting to rise and indicated a chair near 
the head of the couch. 

And so he again beheld this woman, who, though 
an eastern product, city-bred, a society, hot-house 
reared girl, but recently evolved from an inert, pas- 
sionless, bloodless, reposeful existence to a warm- 
blooded, vigorous, vivacious woman, yet appealed to 
him as a man — such a man as he had been — to his 
passions. She had developed qualities that were sur- 
prisingly at variance with those with which she had 
been inculcated. She now loved the wild, she was 
unconventional, she dared to do as she pleased, — ex- 
cepting she could not bear the idea, he thought, of her 
friends knowing of any even involuntary impropriety. 
She seemed really to have chosen him, uneducated, 
unpolished, as he was, lacking utterly these things 
to which she had been accustomed. 

Yet he was not sure whether she had answered 
"yes” in order to shut the mouths of her kind or 
whether she, as she said, really cared for him. It was 
now almost incredible so to believe. He would now 
266 


'Ben (KHarman 


ascertain whether it was the intoxicant or her real 
self that had spoken — up there in the Columbine 
cabin. 

As he came to her she said simply : “Kiss me.” 

He had been answered before he could speak. 
Yet— — 

“Sibyl, did you really mean it? Or was it the 
strain and the whisky? If you have any regrets, if 
it looks different to you now, don’t mind me. Maybe 
the world don’t look so terrible to you now.” 

“Ben, don’t you know, you do know, it was not 
the strain, or the stimulant or even gratitude. It was 
myself and my love, as I am myself and my love is 
the same now.” 

“Then,” he said resolutely, smiling in a humorously 
happy manner, taking her slender hand, “it’s a go. 
But, we’ll have to wait a long while till I can polish 
up some more, for your eastern friends, you know. 
I wouldn’t want you to be ashamed of me. I’ve got 
to do a lot of studying yet and — thinking — and make 
a stake.” 

As far as she herself was concerned he now felt 
intuitively that he need not polish up for her; that 
this woman in some ways was his natural mate, as- 
the tigress mates the tiger. He knew in his soul 
that as far as money was concerned, and society and 
civilization itself, she would plod the very deserts 
with him, owning nothing but what they carried with 
them. 

“A stake?” she puzzled a moment, then ejaculated 
brightly, “Oh, I know, you mean money. I have 
enough of a ‘stake’ for both of us, Ben, as long as 
we live,” she responded quickly, flashing him a caress- 
ing look, verily a glance of gold. 

“Not for me, never. I ain’t built that way. I’ll 
make good myself. You see I am a little tender 
myself about what folks might say.” 

267 


TBen ©Harman 


She laughed, but seeing that he was in deadly ear- 
nest in this, said, “Let it be so, then.” 

“And now, girl, I’m going to tell you what I’m 
going to do. You remember that I said I had an 
idea, a forlorn hope, about raising money to put 
the mine to pay ore. See this?” And he held out 
to her the ancient arrow-head attached to his watch 
thong. “And this.” And he handed her an old, 
dried parchment. 

With real curiosity she examined and read. When 
she finished he resumed: “If that placer hasn’t 
already been dug out, and I can find it, it will 
make a stake by itself; maybe forty, fifty thousand. 
That will fix things and help develop the mine 
too.” 

“And what then, if you find the placer and make 
the stake?” she asked, her eyes playing upon his 
features. 

“I,” he smiled, “I couldn’t live — in the East.” 

“No,” she responded quickly, “neither could I, 
now.” 

“It’s the West then?” 

“Forever.” 

“Can you leave it all, back there, and stay?” 

“With you, anywhere. I really prefer the West. 
But what will you do then?” 

“Do!” he ejaculated with repressed fervor, “Do! 
I’ll make more mines, I’ll put fifty thousand acres 
under irrigation, I’ll get a railroad built in here, I’ll 

build up this town ” And then he caught his 

breath a moment as he recalled the source of his 
inspiration and ambition. 

Her lustrous eyes flashed her appreciation of these 
big ideas — or was it for the flashing eye, the clean-cut 
lines of his head and face, his splendid torso? “A 
man’s work,” she said, pressing his hand. 

He turned half away as he remembered another 
268 


'Ben (KHarmatt 


voice that had first used those words : “A man’s work 
for a manf” 

As he regarded this strange woman reclining be- 
fore him in long, sinuous curves, emanating a ser- 
pentine fascination, he clearly saw, and the convic- 
tion struck like an iron shaft into his soul, that with 
her by his side that great future of which he had 
dreamed, a future of achievement, would never be 
realized ! That his ambitions would surely die. They 
could not live. She did not appeal to his new but 
to his old self — as he had been; the self he had been 
trying to climb out of. He could ride the mountains 
and roam the deserts with her, he could fight for her 
as fights the mountain lion for his mate, they would 
be wild and free. He could live fiercely with her as 
primitive man and woman. But to rise, to aspire, to 
build, to construct, to be his higher, real self as he 
had sometimes glimpsed himself in the future — that 
could never be — with her! Fate had made a choice 
for him and the finger of destiny pointed back, back, 
back! 

“When do you start?” she inquired. 

He roused himself. “At once, that is, in four or 
five days. It means a month or six weeks over the 
plains and into the mountains to get to that section 
of the country. Then everything depends upon 
chance. If we find it, it means hard work until the 
snow flies, then back again. It may be November or 
December.” 

“Will I hear from you?” 

“Only once or twice. We’ll be hundreds of miles 
from a railroad and almost as far from postoffices 
or stage lines.” 

“Who goes with you?” 

“Dan Drillard. Will you stay here ?” 

“Most of the time, I think; perhaps all the time. 
I may make a short trip to the East to arrange to 
269 


'Ben 2x3arman 


return — and stay.” The lustrous bronze eyes envel- 
oped him again as she spoke. 

The preparations were quickly made, pack animals 
secured, their capital converted to gold and currency 
secured in belts under their shirts and supplies pro- 
vided for the first part of the trip. These they would 
renew at two or three available points en route. And 
on the sixth morning the little train stood ready. 

“Fur how long will yez be gone, Danny?” asked 
Rud, enviously but with affected carelessness. 

“Rud, yuh might uz well ask me how long is a 
rope,” rejoined Dan. 

Outside of the Professor, Dick and Sibyl, the real 
object and destination of the expedition had been 
communicated to no one. It was just one of the 
innumerable common prospecting outfits that fre- 
quently set out from Diorite at this time of the year. 

At the last hour Ben went to the Professor. 
“Here’s a deed to you for my interest in the claims. 
I’ve fixed it all right with Dan. You have a power 
of attorney to act for Rose. It’s possible that some- 
thing might happen to me. It’s some wild country 
up there. In that case I want you and Rose to have 
my interest equally. You have it all in your hands 
now. If you should get a big offer, fifty or a hun- 
dred thousand, sell. Another thing, and a mighty 
important one. Here’s three hundred dollars. Be- 
fore the end of the year some time we must do that 
amount of work on the claims, annual assessment 
work, to keep our title good. You have that done 
in prospect holes, one hundred dollars on each claim. 
I might be delayed and not get back until after the 
first of the year. Understand, Prof.?” 

“I will attend to it, Ben.” But the Professor’s 
eyes did not look into Ben’s. They wandered every- 
where except to the face of the stalwart young man 
before him. Ben noted the drooping shoulders, the 
270 


IBen ISJarman 


disconsolate, hopeless expression of the once ani- 
mated, sprightly scholar and was struck with sudden 
pity. 

“Take care of yourself, Professor. Brace up. I — 
I won’t be able to write to — to Rose — now — at all. 
You might tell her where I’ve gone, up among the 
Shoshones, and what for. If I succeed in this, we’ll 
have a stake, and next year we’ll have a mine too 
and you can go east to live. Good-by.” 

“Good-by, Ben, good-by.” He took Ben’s offered 
hand with nerveless, cold, inert fingers. 

“Pretty near a misdeal,” thought Ben, “ought to 
have a new hand.” 

When he had gone the aging student stood long 
where they parted looking fixedly out to the distant 
peaks. 

In her room at the hotel Ben said good-by to Sibyl. 
In his arms, her own slender ones wrapped about his 
neck, she stood and held his blue eyes with the deep, 
golden gleam of hers. She shed no tears. Only once 
had she asked him to stay, to accept her offering of 
sufficient funds to develop the mine which met again 
with prompt and firm refusal. Her eyes lingered on 
every lineament, his hair, his brow, his mouth, his 
columnar neck, and returned again to his eyes. She 
coiled him fiercely about with those slender, tenacious 
arms and pressed a long, lingering kiss upon his 
lips. 

“If I live I’ll return to you, Sibyl,” were his part- 
ing words. 

At noon of the first day out after they had camped 
and eaten and sat for a few minutes to finish their 
pipes and give the horses their rest and grazing, Ben 
drew from his pocket and opened curiously an en- 
velope Sibyl had given him at parting with the in- 
junction not to read it until out on the trail. It en- 
closed a letter from Gerald Lorimer to Sibyl. 

271 


“Ben barman 


Dear Sis: — Arrived safely this morning and saw 
Rose at once. Told her of your engagement to War- 
man and gave her the letter from her father. I never 
told you just what was in the letter but in it he re- 
quested her, as she loved him and cared for his peace 
of mind and future welfare, to look upon my suit with 
favor, as it lay in my power to be of the greatest 
service to him. What that is I haven’t the remotest 
idea myself. The parties I named to you doubtless 
know. In short the letter told her that it meant more 
than life itself to him to have her accept me. 

When I told her of the engagement (I didn’t tell 
her of the adventure in the blizzard — that is to come 
at the proper time and in a way to do me a great 
deal of good) and as she read the letter, after the 
first start and old clenching of her hands, she took it 
like the thoroughbred she is. Without a quaver in her 
voice, her head held high, she said: “I shall take 
these things into consideration. I want to think it 
over. Also I want to hear from father direct, by 
mail. Meanwhile — you may call again.” With that 
she dismissed me. 

But I shall stay as long as necessary. I feel now 
that I shall win her. It means my salvation as you 
well know. I shall act slowly, wisely and surely. 

Sis, she’s developed wonderfully already. Her 
beauty is growing every day, she’s made tremendous 
advancement in her books, her music, in her whole 
tone and style, dress, speech and manners; although 
these were by no means deficient before. She has 
natural dignity, personality and distinction. In six 
months there won’t be another girl in our New York 
circle who can hope to match her. She will create a 
furore when I launch her in New York society. 

Now, as far as I am concerned, though I don’t 
approve of it, I give you my consent, under the cir- 
cumstances, to marry Warman. You are old enough 
272 


'Ben JOatman 


to choose for yourself and you have chosen the West 
and Warman — it seems. I feel sorry for you and 
hope you will not regret it. Your Bro. Gerald. 

For full five minutes he stared motionless at the 
writing and another five minutes at a bald mountain 
in the far distance. 

Then slowly he folded the letter and put it care- 
fully away. 

His lips moved : “I had — hoped it would be — Dick.” 

He had wondered when and how she would hear of 
his engagement, how she would receive the news. A 
new fear seized him as the thought came for the 
first time that when he had done this thing he was 
already in a manner bound to Rose. Theirs was not 
an engagement, she had said nothing and he had in- 
sisted that she say nothing. There was no promise on 
her part but could it be that honor should have dic- 
tated that his future acts be based on the theory that 
he was bound to her? Could he be pledged and she 
not? She had given a pledge, in a way, but not 
in words, not a promise. He would not allow her 
to. Thus he was torn with conflicting emotions 
roused by this new view of his situation. 

So this was the manner of her knowing. The state- 
ment regarding a letter from her father and its con- 
tents stunned him. What meant the mysterious ref- 
erences to the importance, to the Professor, of Rose’s 
acceptance of Lorimer? The old man must surely 
be losing his mind. Surely Rose would not act hastily. 
He tried to feel sure of this. 

He wondered vaguely how he would act in the mat- 
ter, what he would say, what he could write to her, 
to the Professor, to Dick. Then he realized that he 
had put himself beyond the pale of legitimate interest, 
of a right to say or do anything. Interference on his 
part would now be an intrusion — an impertinence, 
273 


'Beit t&arman 


perhaps insult. He could not even explain his own 
act. If Rose only knew all the truth her judgment 
might not be so harsh. There was nothing for him 
to do but go on — on into the wilderness — with this 
eating into his heart. His jaw finally set. He went 
on. 


274 


CHAPTER XXXI 


IN THE LAND OF THE SHOSHONES 

Two men, riding horses and leading pack animals, 
filed into the beautiful valley of the Popo Agie and 
rested for a day at the small inland town of Lander, 
one hundred and thirty-five miles from the nearest 
railroad. 

They purchased additional supplies and repacked. 
The succeeding day Ben and Dan entered the Sho- 
shone Reservation and reached Fort Washakie. And 
here a strange incident befell Ben Warman. A short 
beard of gold now covered his face, and his clustered 
hair had lengthened until, with his superb figure, his 
appearance was indeed striking. In a land of mag- 
nificent men physically he attracted attention, re- 
served, but all the more sincere. The Indians paid 
him respectful, though silent, notice, as one in whom 
they recognized a leader, a chief, a superior physical 
being. 

As he stood for a moment before an Indian lodge 
he felt a touch upon his shoulder, and wheeled to meet 
a commanding looking half-breed of perhaps fifty 
years of age — an interpreter — for he addressed him 
in perfect English. 

“This Indian woman at thy right, before the lodge, 
would have speech with thee,” and he indicated a won- 
derfully aged squaw, who sat on the ground by the 
tent door, wrapped about with blankets. 

A full hundred years had passed over the bowed 
gray head, and seamed and wrinkled to net-work a 
face whereon sat old wisdom and something, withal, 

275 


TSett ©Harman 


of dignity. Ben drew near in wonderment and stood 
respectfully before her. An old, old voice, wherein 
lurked, it seemed to his ear, the very mystery of the 
ages, spoke slowly and quaveringly. 

“She would have thee seated on the ground before 
her. Her sight is almost gone.” 

Ben silently sat himself before her, after the fash- 
ion of the Indian. With shaking, shriveled hands 
raised to her brows, she looked upon him long and 
earnestly. If emotion could yet sit upon a face as 
aged as hers then there grew gradually upon that 
furrowed countenance wonder, mingled with fear. 

Through the interpreter followed these words : 
“Dost thou bear with thee the marked arrow-head 
of the Shoshones?” 

“I do. It is here,” and he laid into her hand the 
keepsake of his great grandsire. 

For some moments she peered at the arrow-head 
and its curious engravings, then returned it, saying, 
and it seemed there was an additional note of awe in 
her weak voice: “It is the same. I gave it thee in 
the days of my youth and thine. Thou hast the same 
golden hair and beard, the same stature and eyes like 
the blue of the skies thou then hadst. Thy name — • 
it ” 

“Ben Warman.” 

“Ben Warman, yes, the same. Thou, then, must 
be he. How can this be ? Hast thou found the foun- 
tain of youth, or art thou spirit? If thou hast found 
the secret of eternal youth then by the service I ren- 
dered thee and thine in the years long gone — three 
generations in the past, give it me. Oh, let these 
scales fall from mine eyes, that I may see again the 
beauty of the flowers; open these ears, that I may 
hear the music of the wind and waterfall ; oh, 
straighten thou this bent form and make it glad with 
youth and beauty, as it was in the past, that I may 
276 


'Bett ©Hatmatt 


run as the deer and dance as the sunbeam, that I may 
travel on the mountains, as I did once for thee and 
thy people, to the Great Waters in the West.” 

Even before the words were interpreted, sudden 
comprehension flooded Ben’s mind, as light flashes 
into the darkness. For a moment he was stupefied 
with wonder. “Am I dreaming — thy name, oh, aged 
one — thy name?” he asked, his voice vibrant with 
repressed excitement. 

“Sacajawea,” replied the interpreter. “I am the 
son of Baptiste, her son.” 

“It is written Sacajawea in the parchment. See!” 
He thrust into the interpreter’s hand the writing of 
his great grandsire. “Read and tell to her its con- 
tents at the last.” 

When he had finished he turned to Ben. “She is 
that Sacajawea, the Lost Woman of the Shoshones, 
stolen by the Blackfeet in her girlhood. She it was, 
my father’s, Baptiste’s mother, wife of Toussaint 
Chaboneau, guide of the Great Chiefs of Washing- 
ton, who went to the Great Waters of the Pa- 
cific. 

“On that long, long trail she carried my father, 
then a babe of four months, on her back. On her 
breast still hangs the medal given by the White Chiefs, 
Lewis and Clark, to her husband, Chaboneau. Oft 
have I heard her tell of the long trail, of the Great 
Waters, and also of that one who left the party and, 
with the arrow-head inscribed, which she gave him, 
so that he could go on in safety, went into the land 
of the yellow stones, then the hunting ground of the 
Shoshones But of the gold I have never heard her 
speak.” 

“Tell her, then, Chief, that I am not spirit, but man. 
That my name is Ben Warman, but that the Ben 
Warman she knew and to whom she gave this arrow- 
head was my great grandsire.” 

277 


'Ben MJatman 


When Sacajawea heard she bowed her gray head. 
Presently she looked up again and made answer: 

“As thou stoodst before me thou didst in truth seem 
either his spirit or that same Ben Warman, who was 
my friend, whom I knew in the past age. But thou 
art neither. Thou hast,” and there seemed a note of 
wailing despair and sorrow in her voice, “like all men 
thy youth but once. See that thou dost not treat it 
lightly. Keep thou thy youth as a great treasure.” 

At the words there came to Ben’s inner hearing an- 
other voice, which said to him: “Keep your youth.” 

Sacajawea continued: “Youth! It is the glowing 
of the dawn, it is the rainbow in the waterfall, it is 
the fragrance of the flower, the juice of the fruit, the 
sap of the trees. It is the rising of the sun. It is 
the glory of life as the rolling lights are the beauty 
of the North. It is the moonlight on the still waters, 
it is the flash of the diamond, it is the lightning in the 
cloud.” 

She paused and presently resumed : “But, since 
thou hast it not, the secret of youth,” she drew a deep, 
quivering sigh, “thou canst do naught for me. My 
race is run. A hundred times have I seen the sun 
grow cold and far away, the days grow short, the 
nights grow long. The Great Spirit has called me.” 

Again she paused. “What may I do, then, for 
thee? For the sake of thine ancestor I bid thee wel- 
come here and would do for thee what is in my power. 
Why are thou come here? Whither goest thou? 
What seekest thou?” 

“Oh, Sacajawea,” Ben exclaimed eagerly, “that one 
whom thou didst know died as dies the true warrior, 
in battle, far beyond the Father of Waters. Thus 
he came not again to thee and thy people and to find 
again the gold. Through my father’s father and my 
father came to me the writing and the arrow-head 
and the name. Therefore have I come in great trou- 
278 


'Ben (KBarman 


ble to find the gold that will aid me. And the Great 
Spirit has been kind and led me to thee, who, the 
writing tells, knowest of the golden stream. Canst 
thou remember that, oh, Sacajawea? If so, thou 
canst do much for me — and the spirit of mine ances- 
tor will welcome thine. The writing does not make 
it plain. Canst thou remember the place?” 

With heart throbbing fiercely, and new hope thrill- 
ing in his veins, he waited for her answer. So long 
she remained silent that he feared she had forgotten 
or would not tell. At last she spoke. 

“It is far. According to thy measurements more 
than two hundred miles as thou must go. The direc- 
tion is between the setting sun and the lights of the 
North. A small stream that flows in a short bow into 
the Lake of the Yellow Stones. At its head stands 
a great split rock, through which the water falls. 
Half way to the Great Lake, its mouth almost con- 
cealed, flows into this stream a still smaller stream, 
which heads into the heart of the mountain. Half 
way between its mouth and its head, in a round basin, 
are the sands of gold.” 

“That is all,” said the interpreter; “she can tell no 
more.” 

While Sacajawea had been speaking, another half- 
breed, in Indian dress, had paused, and listened in- 
tently, and now moved silently on; but not before 
Ben had turned and given him a sharp glance. 

Once more the old voice murmured, and the inter- 
preter spoke again. “By her direction I will draw a 
picture of the way you are to travel. She bids thee 
farewell — forever.” 

Before the withered semblance of humanity Ben 
rose and bared his head. “I thank her. I have noth- 
ing that she would value. Buy with this that which 
will give her comfort in her last days. My gratitude 
is hers.” And he pressed several bills into the inter- 
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“Beit ©Harman 


preter’s hands. When the interpreter had repeated 
his words, the aged one lifted her hand silently in 
token of understanding, and covered her head with 
her blanket. The interview was at an end. 

Still amazed at the disclosure Ben was buoyant 
with hope and excitement. Was he not, after all, 
working for Rose, that she might possess a fortune? 
And, if she had this fortune, would not her father be 
satisfied without forcing on her a marriage that was, 
to say the least, distasteful to her, aye, hateful? There 
would be no reason left for the old man to insist on 
her sacrifice. There could be no other incentive. The 
gold was the solution of the problem. It would pur- 
chase her freedom and happiness. 

He clung to the conviction that Rose would not 
act hastily. She would at least conclude one year at 
the University. He nurtured this hope of delay in 
her decision or her action upon her decision, and the 
possibility of his yet being able to do something, all, 
for her. These two hopes bore him up and gave him 
comfort and solace, aye, made endurable the weary, 
lonely weeks and months. It all depended now on 
finding the placer gold. After that, hard work and 
a quick return. The dramatic, unexpected meeting 
with Sacajawea, whose existence, dating back to the 
days of his great grandsire, he had never dreamed, 
and now considered with awe, had now made definite 
what had been vague, unreal, a forlorn hope indeed. 

When the exultant Ben related the story to Dan 
Drillard, whose mouth persisted in standing open dur- 
ing the recital in the intensity of his interest, the old 
prospector jumped to his feet, swung his ragged 
slouch hat and whooped with triumph. 

“Say, there’s one Injun thet’s a white man. Ain’t 
she? Bully fur the old girl! sez I. We’ll erect a 
monnement some day. She deeserves one, anyway. 
Queerest thing I ever heerd uv, you runnin’ acrost 
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lBett Eastman 


her. It’s marvellious; more’n thet, it’s stuperfinef 
We cun go ut this thing from now on with enthusiism. 
Then, ag’in,” he concluded drily, with a side glance 
at his partner, “ut looks uz ef ut wuz goin’ tuh im- 
prove y’ur temper material. Y’u’ve ben uz entertain- 
in’, social un’ human, uz lively thataway uz a — toom- 
stone — a — mawsolum !” 

Ben laughed the only real hearty laugh that had 
passed his lips for weeks. “That’s better,” grunted 
Dan. 

“I guess I ain’t,” Ben had lapsed temporarily into 
almost his former method of speech, excepting an oc- 
casional effort, “ain’t been conversin’ much impulsive 
thataway, Dan.” 

A figure approached their camp through the dusk. 
“It’s the interpreter,” said Ben, and arose to greet 
him, 

“The drawings and the names of the mountains and 
streams, as Sacajawea directed. She sends a last mes- 
sage — caution, secrecy. If the trail leads this way 
on the return we may meet again. Farewell.” And 
he was gone, gliding into and swallowed up by the 
gloom. 

They studied their rude diagram by the candle 
light. 

“It’s un eternal cinch, Ben. The lead is uz plain uz 
the back of a razor-back. We cun follow ut ’ith our 
eyes tied behind us un’ both hands shut!” 


281 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE PLACER GOLD 

Day after day they toiled on and one after another 
beheld before them some faraway objective point and 
days later saw it recede behind them. They now had 
to husband their supplies as they had passed the last 
post where they could outfit. Game, however, was 
plentiful. 

As they neared their destination a suppressed eag- 
erness impelled them tirelessly. Relentlessly they 
pushed on at a speed possible only to men of muscles 
of iron and sinews of thong. 

The middle of July found them on the divide from 
which to the west lay the Yellowstone. Stretched 
away in every direction the serried ranks of snow- 
covered mountains; giant ranges and soaring peaks, 
jutting crags and piercing cliffs, perpendicular walls, 
overhanging masses, all cut by canyons of immeas- 
urable depths, in whose far-sunk beds foamed moun- 
tain streams. 

Nature had here disported herself in magnificent 
abandon. These mountains — where fastness called 
unto fastness, where rocks, lights, waters and clouds 
of sapphire and jasper, emerald, topaz and amethyst, 
pearl, silver and gold mingled in gorgeous, awful con- 
fusion — must surely have been the original habitation 
of the Gods. For here were their titanic playgrounds, 
here were temples on temples, cathedrals piled on ca- 
thedrals, here the voices of plunging waterfalls, the 
sweep of the mighty winds, the thunder of mountain 
storms joined in the tremendous anthem of nature. 

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“Ben EEJatmatt 


Surely here were the dwelling places of Deity, the 
abiding places of Omnipotence ! 

The two prospectors who gazed upon that scene 
had spent their lives in the open place, but never had 
they seen the equal of this vast, awe-inspiring pano- 
rama that now unrolled to their rapt vision. For an 
hour they sat and rested and looked in silence. Words 
would have been sacrilege. 

But at length Dan broke the spell : 'This country’s 
so steep the squirrels have to wear breechin’.” 

"Yes,” Ben returned, "so steep that in going down 
we’ll have to jump from the bottom of one tree to the 
top of the next.” 

At last they began to search with their eyes the 
probable stream or gulch at whose head was the Split 
Rock. There seemed to be a number of such streams 
heading just below them to the west and emptying 
into the Great Lake. 

Ben’s gaze dropped presently and then swept rear- 
ward, along the trail they had come. "Dan, I thought 
I saw somethin’ move, something alive. Did you?” 
he said. 

"Not a cussed thing, Ben; guess y’u’re seem* 
things.” 

"Got the impression fur a minute that ut wuz — 
human. Mebbe I am a gettin’ nervous, Dan; mebbe 
I am.” 

Two weeks later they were slowly picking their 
way up the last of four streams. At the head of this 
stream only they had found a heap of tremendous 
rocks, broken and fallen, which might once have stood 
erect, in two parts, and formed the famous landmark 
— the Split Rock of Sacajawea’s memory. They had 
traversed this stream from the head to the lake and 
were now half way back to its head, despondent, dis- 
couraged, ragged, footsore, the sense of failure weigh- 
ing on them. They had found no small stream empty- 
283 


IBeit ©Harman 


ing into this one. It ought to be about where they 
now were — if it was the right stream. 

They sat upon boulders in a narrow compression of 
the stream where the solid smooth walls of rock, 
forty feet apart, rose perpendicularly. They ate their 
meal in silence. Though their determination was 
still strong, their enthusiasm had vanished. To be so 
near and yet to be thus baffled, after so desperate and 
tenacious a search as they had made, was aggravating, 
maddening, 

They were subsisting almost entirely on fish and 
game. Skins and hides covered their nakedness. 
Hardship had taken off every ounce of superfluous 
flesh. Bone and blood and sinew only were left. Af- 
ter they had eaten the sides from a half-dozen trout 
they sat back moodily smoking their pipes. Finally 
Dan spoke. 

“Guess we’ll hev tuh hit the back trail purty soon.” 

“Yu can ef y’u want to, Dan, but not fur me. I 
won’t.” 

“I won’t leave yuh, Ben, yuh know thet, yuh c’u’dn’t 
drive me away ’ith y’ur Savage; but all the same 
we’ve about done all any humans cun do.” 

“Do yuh doubt it bein’ here — somewhere ?” 

“I don’t like tuh say ut but I can’t help doubtin’ 
after the search we’ve made.” 

“I don’t doubt ut at all, Dan, ut’s here. I’m sure 
uv ut. Just uz sure us I am thet we’re the two rag- 
gedest specimens thet ever wore out a boot. Then 
again, Dan, I’ve had a feelin’ thet we’re not alone in 
these mountains. Fur days I’ve hed thet impression. 
Ain’t seen a single sign, but I’ve got the feel. What- 
ever, or whoever ut is ut’s hostile. We’ve got tuh 
keep on un’ git there.” 

Dan flashed at Ben a look that revealed a spirit that 
was far from acknowledging defeat. His mind then 
wandered back and his eyes became fixed on the op- 
284 


TBen OJatmatt 


posite wall of the narrow gulch, as he ran over the 
possibilities. 

Far above them a black head and a copper face re- 
garded them from a cleft in the canyon’s side. 

The black probabilities of failure despite his cour- 
age and optimism obtruded themselves on Ben’s mind. 
How could he return, he thought bitterly, worn out, 
penniless, hopeless, bearing no aid, unable to resume 
work on the copper claims? Then he thought of 
Sibyl. A hollow laugh echoed along the walls and 
startled Dan from a doze. What a pitiful object he 
would present returning empty handed ! Perhaps, his 
thoughts lighted a moment at the possibility, she 
might not want to claim or be claimed by a ragged 
failure such as he would be. Yet he knew in the bot- 
tom of his heart that if she had to camp with him 
now, as he was, like a savage, she would do so. So 
far as Sibyl was concerned he did not care whether 
he found the fabled placer or not. 

Then his thoughts slanted and settled upon Rose. 
As he imagined the pressure under which she must be 
living, that mysterious something that had so sadly 
changed the old student and father from a loving par- 
ent desiring his daughter’s happiness above all things 
to an entreating, aye, commanding dictator, desiring 
something for himself even at her sacrifice — for it 
was nothing else — this union with Gerald Lorimer, his 
blood stirred more swiftly, his hands clenched and 
unclenched and he ground his strong teeth in determi- 
nation and rage, intensified by his helplessness. 

This physical manifestation of his desperate mood 
disturbed his staring, abstracted gaze at the opposite 
wall and he became slowly conscious of a curved line, 
carved, and then that it joined another curved line. 
It was not natural, it was artificial. His interest was 
idly aroused at this. His narrowing gaze then dis- 
cerned another line joining the first two. 

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15 en taiarman 


“Indian writing, I suppose,” he muttered, but even 
these, here, were of interest. Mark after mark his 
eyes studied out and a new conviction came. These 
were not Indian hieroglyphics — these were the works 
of white men ! To the end of the seeming words, 
the first one short, the second about twice as long, his 
eye traveled slowly and back again. Thus familiar- 
ized he was now able, despite their dimness and dis- 
tance, to take in at a glance as one does in reading. 
The whole was suddenly grouped as one to his vision 
and then 

With a conclusive leap he was on his feet. “We 
win, Dan ; we win !” he shouted, seizing Dan’s shoul- 
der in a grip that left blue marks for days. With 
shaking hand he pointed to the opposite wall. Dan 
heard and gazed in amazement at his companion. He 
saw nothing on the wall. A great fear came over 
him and he turned and seized Ben’s arm, trying to 
look into his fixed eyes. Finding the attempt useless 
he cried: “Ben, what is ut? Don’t act like a crazy 
man. Tell me.” 

“My name ! His name ! Ben Warman ! . On the 
wall yonder. Don’t y’u see ut? Don’t y’u see ut? 
Follow the line uh rtiuh finger. No, here, the sights 
on the rifle.” 

Then it was Dan’s turn. The screech he let loose 
would have driven a mountain lion to cover. 

Victory now danced in the eyes of the ragged gladi- 
ator as he drew forth for the hundredth time or 
more the worn parchment. With Dan looking eager- 
ly on he traced with his finger the words : 

“And also did I tell her of the gold and where it 
was, and this she also knew; that I had hewn my 
name into the stone of the wall of the chasm from 
which the way to the bed of the stream might be 
known.” 


286 


'Ben <K3arman 


“Ut don’t say which way un’ how far,” cried Dan 
shrilly in his great excitement. 

Ben, leaping from boulder to boulder, crossed the 
narrow stream and stood on the last and largest one 
against the other wall beneath the writing. Stand- 
ing at his full height he saw under the name smaller 
characters. He read: ‘Too yds down — behind great 
boulder.” 

With a yell he sprang back. “Come on, Dan.” 

In a few minutes they stood before a boulder as 
large as a small house, now moss-grown and almost 
hidden with brush and small trees that had found 
lodgment around it and in its cracks — evergreens that 
spread squattily over its surface. From each side 
a narrow slit of water cut into the main stream. On 
one side was a small opening large enough for a 
man’s body; this they found after beating down the 
bushes. Through this they pressed to the other side 
to find themselves in the bed of a small stream, the 
head of which they could discern a mile up the gulch 
against the mountain side. Racing along in the shal- 
low water, over rocks and boulders and an occasional 
narrow strip of sand and gravel, they went. The 
narrow bed suddenly swelled out into a basin or 
cup, a hundred yards wide and two hundred 
long. 

Ben halted as if he had come in contact with a 
stone wall. His hand sped down into the shallow, 
clear water and, turning to Dan, who had come up, 
thrust out a clenched hand full of gravel and sand. 
“Look ! Look !” He opened his fingers. In the center 
of the sand and gravel in his palm glowed two nug- 
gets of gold. 

From the columnar throat of the splendid, ragged 
figure that held them, whose sinuous nakedness was 
but scantily covered with hides and skins, whose head 
was covered with long, golden hair, whose eyes held 
287 


'Ben SHatman 


electric blue fire, came a long, piercing, mighty, ex- 
ultant yell of triumph. 

Fifty yards to the rear, along the course they had 
come, a dirty, copper-hued face, snaky eyes aglitter, 
peered over a boulder. The head of a half-breed 
emerged slowly, a long rifle was rested on the boulder 
and leveled. 

Click! The cartridge had failed to explode. 

Ben’s acute ear caught the peculiar, significant 
sound, his quick eyes saw something move. It was a 
head dropped momentarily over a rifle as if working a 
lever. His own Savage came up and was fired instan- 
taneously with the other. A lock of golden hair 
floated to the ground. The head and shoulders of the 
half-breed hung over the top of the boulder motion- 
less. 

They deployed and approached cautiously, but soon 
saw that the danger had passed. 

“Thet’s some shootin’,” Dan remarked slowly, al- 
most reverently, as they gazed on the face of the 
dead Indian whose forehead showed a bullet hole in 
the center. 

“He’s the breed that stepped up un’ heard Saca- 
jawea telling of this gold and the way to get here,” 
said Ben. “I got a look at him then. My feelin’s 
’bout bein’ shadowed were sure right. His face seems 
sort uh familiar.” 

“Familiar, hell! I sh’u’d say so. That’s Rainer, 
the half-breed, from Diorite. Un’ when he’s in his 
half-civilized rags he gits his grub and pizen from 
Bart Conley !” 


288 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE FIGHT 

On the evening of the thirtieth of December a 
group of three sat in the large, square parlor of the 
Graham home. Against one wall stood a small table. 
A weazened-faced man sat at one side; next, facing 
the wall, sat Bart Conley, while at the other side was 
Professor Graham, his face shrunken, pale, beads of 
sweat standing out on his pallid forehead. Conley 
was speaking. 

“Mr. Graham, the time has come when you must 
act. We have been patient and lenient with you. 
We’ve given you almost six months to consider and 
we must have an answer — and action — tonight.” 

The slight form of the scholar threw up his hand, 
anguish contorting his features. “How can I, man? 
How can I do this thing. How can I deed to you 
this copper property when it is not mine?” 

“It is yours. You hold a deed from Warman for 
his interest, the Notary here took his acknowledgment 
on it, and knows. You have by your own statement a 
power of attorney from your daughter.” 

“I know all that, but it’s robbing them ; it is worse, 
it is betraying them.” 

“Mr. Graham,” said Conley sternly, sharp impa- 
tience clipping off his words shortly and incisively, 
“we’ve been all over that several times. We ain’t 
here to argue. All that we’ve compelled you to do so 
far is the writing of those letters to your daughter in 
behalf of Lorimer; and that’s to your benefit. He’s 
289 


TBen batman 


wealthy,” a sardonic gleam illuminated his black orbs 
as he pronounced the word, “educated and all that; 
he can give your daughter a place in society — every- 
thing she desires ” 

“He’s a scoundrel and a decadent,” flashed the old 
scholar desperately, goaded by the false, smooth, spe- 
cious argument which he knew reeked with deceit, du- 
plicity and hypocrisy. 

“That’s a side matter and it’s done,” returned the 
gambler king abruptly, his voice hardening. “I re- 
ceived a wire three days ago saying your daughter 
had accepted him and that they would be married 
night before last.” 

A pitiful moan escaped the frail student’s white 
lips. “My God, my God !” He covered his face with 
his emaciated hands and his slight figure shook with 
silent sobs of misery. 

Only a moment the merciless voice paused. “That’s 
done, I say. Your last letter did it. Now you might 
as well finish everything up and be through with it — 
and your secret will be buried. There’s the deed for 
the Columbine claims all fixed up ready for your sig- 
nature. The Notary is here to see you sign and re- 
ceive your acknowledgment. You will do this to- 
night, now, or suffer the consequences.” 

The Professor’s face whitened still more. “For 
God’s sake, man, is there no other way?” 

There was no response save ominous silence from 
the dark-featured, massive-formed dictator. The 
old man took in his trembling hand the pen Conley 
held out to him. It was poised in the air above the 
paper, motionless, save for its trembling. 

“You speak of this being robbery,” Conley said, “you 
know very well that we are buying this property and 
paying for it — paying in good, hard money — one 
thousand dollars.” 

Conley here looked significantly at the Notary as if 
290 


'Ben (Kastman 


to impress the words upon his memory. The Notary 
nodded. 

“What's more, that’s all the property is worth. 
You haven’t opened up any copper. It’s all iron. 
We’ve got use for an iron mine for smelting pur- 
poses and that’s what we’re buying. It’s only a pros- 
pect at that. Here’s your check.” 

He dropped a red slip of paper in front of the 
Professor. An expression of disgust and horror 
came to the scholar’s drawn face, his fingers, re- 
laxed, dropped the pen on the table. 

“That’s a subterfuge. I know better. You know 
better. It’s a lie !” 

A flush darkened Conley’s heavy countenance, 
coarseness and brutality came uppermost in his man- 
ner and voice alike as he snarled: “Graham, look 
here, I’m through talking. All I got to say is to ask 
you if you’re ready to disgrace your daughter for life 
with a thing a thousand times worse than her mar- 
riage to Lorimer? Are you ready to face the public, 
ready to go back to Massachusetts in the custody of 
an officer, with handcuffs on your wrists? Are you 
ready to stand trial and be branded before all the 
world a ” 

“For God’s sake, Conley, don’t say it, don’t say it,” 
the Professor cried. “Some one might hear it. I’ve 
explained it to you.” Terror stared from the schol- 
ar’s eyes, he shook as with ague. 

“Your explanation don’t explain. You know you 
can’t escape, you know you’ll be convicted.” Con- 
ley’s voice became savage. He fairly hissed the 
concluding words : Sign, damn you, sign. I 

give you one minute by the watch. If you haven’t 
signed at the end of that time I go straight to 
the telegraph office and wire the Chief of Police at 
Boston.” 

A tense silence ensued, while the wretched victim 
291 


'Bett (KBarmatt 


writhed in anguish. “Thirty seconds !” came the 
gambler’s voice with a snap, bristling with 
threat. 

His face like the face of the dead, the Professor 
took up the pen with semi-palsied fingers and pressed 
the point to the document. Above him the two men 
stood and watched like vulture and hawk. Tremu- 
lously the pen scratched along the line. The name 
was finished, the signature done. The pen slid from 
the nerveless hand and rolled from the table to the 
floor and the old man fell back in his chair. The 
limits of his endurance, body, mind and spirit, had 
been reached. 

“Quick now,” spoke Conley to the Notary. 

“Acknowledge this to be your voluntary act and 
deed,” murmured the weazen-faced man hurriedly, 
stretching out his hand for the document. 

“No, he don’t!” came a voice smooth as steel and as 
hard. 

Conley whirled with a curse. He would know that 
voice among ten thousand. 

Ben Warman stood within the doorway leading 
from an adjoining room, his gun easily poised, his 
eyes grey sparks, his face adamantine in its rigidity. 
Menace flowed from every quiet line as he stood mo- 
tionless. His clothes were torn and dirty, his slouch 
hat was pulled over his eyes, a week’s growth of 
beard roughed his face. 

“He don’t, because it ain’t his voluntary act and 
deed. Be careful, Mr. Notary, don’t touch that paper. 
It ain’t acknowledged and it ain’t delivered.” The 
words came in an even, steady, repressed tone. “Con- 
ley, I’m just back from the Yellowstone, a half hour 
ago. Your half-breed murderer is up there — dead. 
I came into the next room about the time you opened 
your play. I’ve heard everything, the whole damning, 
damnable, damned story. You seem to have a foul 
292 


05ett ©Harman 


hold on the Professor, but I don’t believe he’s guilty. 
We’ll meet that later. Your game’s up.” 

Without glancing at the Notary he said: “Get 
out.” 

The Notary moved to the door and passed out like 
an automaton. 

“Professor, go into the next room.” 

The Professor did not stir and Ben glanced at him 
sharply. The old man had fainted in his chair. 

“Conley,” went on the voice of steel, “y’u’ve done 
a lot uh things fur which I ought tuh shoot yuh like 
a kiote, ur at least, on sight. Y’u know I won’t do 
that un’ yuh know why. Y’u’ve done one thing thet’s 
final ; y’u’ve ruined a young girl’s life by forcing her, 
through ’er love fur thet old man, into a marriage 
that’ll be a hell on earth to ’er. Y’ur time has come. 
Put y’ur gun on thet chair — un’ be careful.” 

Conley obeyed sluggishly, his face distorted by 
black rage. Hatred and malignity unquenchable 
gleamed and shot from his deep eyes. Ben took the 
gun and laid it without the door on the floor of the 
next room. Then he unbuckled his belt and placed it 
and his own gun beside Conley’s. Rising, he turned, 
closed and locked the door, flung the key on the table, 
beside the check and the deed. 

No words were necessary as to the next move. 
While they divested themselves of coat and vest and 
dropped them in opposite corners of the room, throw- 
ing their hats upon them, Conley’s eyes burned with 
satisfaction. Now he was, in his judgment, on more 
than equal footing with his antagonist. His enemy, 
at the very moment of his supremacy, had given 
everything into his hands — his life, the deed, the 
check, the key. His would be the hand to pick up 
that key and walk forth the victor in all. A wolfish, 
sarcastic laugh came to his lips. 

“I know what’s in y’ur mind, Conley. Y’u think 

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'Beit (KBarmatt 


I’m a fool. I am — if you win — but y’u’ve got tuh win 
first.” 

As the situation had unfolded itself to Ben in the 
adjoining room, his teeth grated dangerously, and his 
forefinger all but pressed trigger. This, then, was 
the explanation of it all. When Conley told of the 
engagement and marriage of Lorimer and Rose it 
took every ounce of his will power to restrain him- 
self from springing in and sinking his fingers into that 
monstrous throat, or to empty his gun into that huge 
body. 

But the time after all was at hand for an account- 
ing between him and the gambler ; only a few min- 
utes more. While his will grew indomitable he be- 
came deadly calm, his vision cleared, his senses be- 
came supremely alert. He knew precisely his plan 
of battle. His body had worked itself into flexible 
steel. He was ready for the conflict. 

Conley saw his mood and temper. But not for a 
moment did he doubt the outcome. With his enor- 
mous strength, his experience and skill in the ring, his 
regular training that had kept him in condition, he 
could not lose. Yet his cunning mind saw the advan- 
tage of working his enemy into a passion. 

“Before we begin, Warman, I might say that you 
are a fool. I’m going to batter your life out in this 
room and you’re inviting me, forcing me to do it. 
There’ll be no answering to the law. When I’m done 
with you I’ll take the deed and the property. The 
Professor is absolutely in my power. Through me 
and Trixie Howard, ah, you remember her, you have 
lost Rose Graham. She was married night before 
last, as you heard me say, to the last man on earth 
you would want her to marry — a drunkard, a drug 
fiend, a rotten decadent and scoundrel, as the Pro- 
fessor said. If you care to see it I have the telegram 
here and it’s genuine I think you believe me. 

294 


IBen MJarman 


'‘You’re a fool again because you allowed yourself 
to be tricked into an engagement with Sibyl Lorimer ; 
a fool, because it wasn’t necessary as you supposed, 
or expected of you, even under the circumstances on 
account of which, with your new fool notions of 
honor, you bound yourself and cut yourself off for- 
ever from the girl you loved. Sibyl Lorimer, I am 
pleased to tell you, was advised, to a degree, by 
Trixie Howard. Sibyl Lorimer is also a decadent in 
her way and was willing to do anything to secure you. 
You are quite a heart-breaker.” 

Conley’s sneering voice took on a deeper tone as 
he pronounced the last sentence. He was not yet 
through. 

“Following out their plan, Sibyl gave you that fool 
book to get that very idea into your head. She in- 
tended all the time, and she’s as smooth as they make 
them and only needed a suggestion, though I’ll say at 
the same time she’s straight, to trap you in some such 
situation. She’d have gotten lost on that trip, even if 
it hadn’t snowed and made it real, until it was late 
enough. Your wild blood, with hers, and a little play 
acting on her part were to do the rest. As it hap- 
pened, when it came, it was genuine because of the 
snow storm and that made the play all the easier. 

“Again, you’re a fool because you don’t even get 
credit for acting honorably — the one thing that drove 
you to it, according to your new lights. We’ve seen 
to it that the proper story was circulated on the quiet 
that you purposely planned to keep her up there all 
night ; that if she hadn’t got lost, you would have, until 
very late and that you forced yourself upon her and 
compelled the engagement — for her money. Oh, 
you’ve got a fine reputation. 

“You’re a fool some more because it gave Lori- 
mer a chance to convey to Rose Graham the story in 
such a way as to make it appear that he had been 
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“Bert tfilarman 


compelled to force you into the engagement to save 
his sister’s name. So you see where you stand with 
Rose Graham. 

“I might add,” he laughed in heavy mockery, “that 
while your three hundred dollars left with the old 
man here to do your annual work on the Columbine 
claims furnished booze for a number of hangers on 
at my place, and I got the money ; it did no work on 
your claims, and, on top of the deed, just to make 
everything doubly secure and legal, we’ll locate the 
ground new tomorrow night after twelve, January 1st. 
You’ve lost your title under the law. 

“Lastly, you’re a fool because you didn’t realize 
that I would learn all about your Yellowstone trip 
through Lorimer, who got it from his sister, though 
she didn’t know it would injure you or that we would 
put a man on your trail. Just how you escaped 
Rainer I don’t know ; but he could have got you many 
times, only my instructions were to let you find the 
placer gold first. It’s all right. He’s left you to me. 
I wouldn’t tell you all this, but it won’t harm us any 
as you’ll never leave this room alive. I guess that’s 
all. It’s enough and pretty fair satisfaction. Now 
comes the finish in which I take the greatest enjoy- 
ment of all, for I have a little matter in my craw, 
besides the money you’ve taken from me at various 
times.” 

The smoldering eyes of the gambler flared. “You 
took the heart out of Trixie Howard before she came 
to me.” 

During the whole sneering, stunning, lacerating re- 
cital, as the damning infamy, the treachery, the hu- 
miliation, the uselessness of his sacrifice, the devilish 
cunning that had put him in such a light before Rose 
ate into his hearing and dropped like poison into the 
depths of his soul. Ben’s blood had almost ceased to 
flow, then swept back in tides and floods of passion 
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15tn Eastman 


that threatened to blind him. But he stood through- 
out it all like a man of stone. Not a feature twitched, 
not a muscle quivered, not a change came in his even 
breathing. The same quiet, deadly menace only was 
in his expression. Conley now felt that his subter- 
fuge was lost and that on the contrary his effort had 
steeled and tempered the man before him. 

During his last words that very miracle had hap- 
pened. For there came up from the character deeps 
of Ben Warman the results of his year of fighting 
with himself, his own conquering. His vision cleared, 
his brain became precise, a great calm was his, a per- 
fect self-control, physically and mentally. Only his 
eyes showed change. They were steel gray. 

With his closing words, Conley, as the flame leaped 
into his eyes and he became again brute and prize- 
fighter, sprang and struck, unexpectedly. But with 
a duck and a swift side-step, Ben evaded the half- 
treacherous attack. 

Believing that his bulk and power, his endurance, 
his capacity to take punishment would carry him 
through and that he could thus probably break down 
his opponent early in the battle, the dictator pushed 
the fighting from the start. His rushes were made 
with a momentum and craft in attack that seemed as 
if he must carry all before him. Yet he did not leave 
himself unguarded for a moment. 

Conley had not deceived himself as to the manner 
of man he must fight. With a judgment formed by 
years of experience he had estimated the abilities of 
his opponent; his marvelous agility, his quickness on 
his feet, the lightning-like swiftness of his blow, the 
sureness of his eye, his judgment of distance and 
also the power in that lithe, sinuous body. The only 
error he had made was in underestimating all of 
these qualities in a slight degree. He found that he 
must raise his estimate to a higher notch on each of 
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them. Ben Warman was even quicker, more scien- 
tific, more powerful than he had thought. 

Once, the ex-heavyweight, seeking an opportunity 
to deliver a certain swing, decided to risk receiving a 
blow. It was inevitable and it came, just below the 
heart, and it was then he found that Ben had that 
faculty, the thing that distinguishes one fighter in a 
thousand, of somehow concentrating all the force of 
the entire body behind a single blow that made the 
impact frightful, and then of instantaneous recovery 
and guard. In this instance such was the rapidity of 
the whole movement that the opportunity for the 
deadly swing Conley had anticipated returning was 
not disclosed. 

After that blow, Ben, smiling coldly, fell back a 
moment. This was no affair of rounds and resting 
spells, but continuous, heart-breaking effort without 
cessation save as they voluntarily sprang back for a 
few moments to come forward with a new line of at- 
tack. Again, in this, Ben had a slight advantage, as 
he was more accustomed to this manner of fighting 
while Conley’s had nearly all been ring experience 
under rules and rounds. 

Each had landed blows and both bore the marks 
of conflict. Their outer and undershirts were soon 
cut to rags, torn off and discarded. Red blotches, 
cuts and abrasures appeared upon the chest and shoul- 
ders of each. Ben’s cheek was slit and blood slowly 
trickled from it, enough to ensanguine his shoul- 
ders. Conley’s lips were battered and swollen and a 
lightning stroke that found its way through his guard 
again upon the mouth spattered the blood from his 
lips. The heavy work was beginning to tell on both, 
but a trifle more on Conley because, though wasting 
not a single moment, he had done most of the advanc- 
ing and rushing. His breath began to come heavily. 

One point the saloon man had not considered — the 
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IBett tOarman 


lapse of years. He was ten years older than his op- 
ponent. While this had its advantages still the young 
miner was nearer the true prime of the ring. The 
year and a half that had elapsed since they had met 
to know each other had made this difference and 
Bart Conley had not given this point thought. The 
ex-cowboy’s advantage in the matter of youth, resili- 
ency of recuperative powers, began to manifest itself. 
With him there was a constant renewal of depleted 
strength, a replacement of spent tissue. 

As the minutes sped by the giant found that while 
his antagonist kept up a high average of recuperation 
his own renewal of strength and wind was gradually 
lowering. Again, in spite of his training, his life of 
late had not been active enough to maintain him in 
the most perfect condition. 

At length, realizing these errors of judgment and 
the facts, he became enraged and it made him for 
the time being all the more dangerous. All these 
things being true, he yet appeared to be the superior 
of his opponent and that it was only a matter of time 
when he would conquer. Ben’s taunting smile, cold 
and sarcastic, the increasing frequency with which 
he landed blows, especially in the face, increased his 
rage and, because he was overbearing and bull-like 
by nature, he sought all the more to overcome quickly 
by tremendous rushes, abandoning in his anger the 
long, stooping, extended posture, left arm far ad- 
vanced, with which he had thus far waged the fight. 

Both knew that if one of his terrific blows landed 
in a vital spot, it would decide the battle. No human 
being could withstand it. Many times they landed 
but never fairly, always partially blocked, glancing 
or falling just a little short, or failed of their direc- 
tion and did not reach the vital point. The gambler’s 
nose had swollen now enormously, his lips protruded 
until he was frightful to behold, particularly when he 
299 


05en JEHarman 


drew back his lips from his teeth as he did at times 
involuntarily, in a wolfish grimace. Ben had not 
fared much better ; he was the bloodier of the two. 

Amid a rapid interchange of blows a thud upon 
the floor startled them both. The insensible Profes- 
sor had slid from his chair. The shock aroused him 
and he gazed upon a scene that distended his eyes 
with horror. Only for a moment they glanced at 
him, then returned to the attack. 

One thing troubled Conley sorely now. He had 
always fought with gloves, in the ring. Ben had 
often fought bare-handed, as they were now. Time 
after time the ex-heavyweight champion misjudged 
his block and that stinging, staggering, small mass of 
clenched bone, muscle and cartilage impacted against 
his face and body. Conley’s hands suffered more 
than his opponent’s. 

Suddenly there came a crash and the door from the 
adjacent room was broken open. Shifty Sam and 
Colvert entered, Shifty Sam picking up the guns. 
The Notary had summoned them. Ben seemed to 
mind these newcomers no more than he had the Pro- 
fessor. Shifty Sam looked craftily about for means 
to assist Conley, as he saw the evenness of the battle, 
but there seemed to be no way except by open mur- 
der. Under the circumstances this would be too 
open. The Professor, too, was a witness. Yet the 
battle must end in Warman’s death; better, then, as 
a result of the fight, in view of the law. 

These were evidently also Conley’s swift conclu- 
sions, for he snarled hoarsely: “I’ll fight this out.” 
He glanced at his henchman. “You get that deed on 
the table and keep it.” 

As Shifty Sam made his way cautiously around 
the side of the room, his gun covering him, Ben’s 
blood boiled at the treachery and the unfair odds. 

“You coward, you dirty coward! You treacherous 

3 °° 


15tn 2x3arman 


devil! You ! That is one of the stakes of this 

fight. Are you game?” he sneered the last words, 
the very words the gambler had used on a certain 
night that burned in his memory — and now lent fire 
to his spirit. 

Conley laughed horribly. “ All’s fair in love and 
war. This is both. We take what we can. I could 
have Shifty Sam beat you on the head from behind 
with his gun, curse you,” he panted. 

“But you won’t do it, Conley,” came a new voice. 
“Drop that paper on the table, Shifty Sam, and 
mighty quick.” 

Dick Grant stood in the outer doorway with lev- 
eled gun, his slight frame drawn up, his eyes blazing 
blackly with excitement and emotion. He had learned 
of Ben’s presence in town and had naturally come to 
the Professor’s house to find him. 

“Ben! Ben! Ben!” he cried. His voice, sobbing 
with the clutch of his feelings, rose above the din, 
as the bloody fighters circled. 

“You’ll have a fair fight and the stakes shan’t be 
touched. You can fight to the finish. It’s Dick talk- 
ing,” he called, Ben making no sign of recognition. 
“I hope to God you win; you will win, win because 
you’re right; win because you ought to, win because 
you’re the best man!” 

Even as he spoke the concluding words behind him 
appeared a vision in blue, in the fashionable garb of 
the East. Rose Graham, with the light of surprise 
and shocked sensibilities in her dark eyes, looked 
upon the bloody scene as if turned to stone. In her 
own quiet home she saw two men, blood-spattered 
from head to waist. The chairs had been swept back 
to the walls, the very walls themselves were smeared 
with red where they had weaved against them. A low 
hung picture had been scraped from its fastenings, 
trampled underfoot and kicked into a corner. They 
301 


15en (H3arman 


had crashed into a book case, breaking the glass. 
Blood was everywhere. The fighters were insen- 
sible to all else save that they must fight, fight, fight ! 
Fight, until nothing remained before them to re- 
sist ! 

So Rose beheld the man whom she had tried to 
raise from the lower levels, face and torso lacerated 
and bright with blood, fighting with animal-like fierce- 
ness. So much had she hoped for, how much none 
knew, and then came betrayal, unfaithfulness, the 
breaking of his word, falsity, a dishonorable act to- 
ward another woman — such a deed as branded him 
dissolute and lost — and now — now she beheld him in 
the full revelation of his undernature, the animal, the 
beast, the savage; smeared with gore, beating with 
bestial ferocity at another human being! 

A faintness came over her and she would have 
fled. It was so sudden and appalling, this seeing of 
him unexpectedly in the most frightful exhibition of 
his wild nature. Though she had suffered much, she 
felt a new, terrible, numbing pain at her heart. Then 
her eyes rested upon his antagonist, the brute-like, 
powerful Conley, whom men everywhere feared and 
obeyed; the man who was ruthless, who ruled by 
might and power and terror. Then she recalled a 
day when she had been compelled to strike, to fight 
in horrible contact to save herself ! 

Her feet refused to take her from the scene which 
began to fascinate her with its ferocity and its blood. 
And tfren she saw a terrible blow smash into the face 
of the man for whom she had hoped and worked that 
he might be elevated to higher things. She saw him 
fall at full length, saw his head turn slowly from side 
to side as he lay on the floor, saw him writhe and 
his shoulders twist, saw him lift his head, turn over 
and draw his knees up under him; saw him, with the 
wonderful resiliency and courage, the recuperative 
302 


IBen ©Hannan 


power of splendid, glorious youth, regain his feet and 
then with a miraculous skill successfully withstand 
the exultant rush of his enemy who had summoned 
the full remaining power of his great brute body to 
that blow. 

As she looked upon that dread yet magnificent 
sight, as Dick’s cries of encouragement rang in her 
ears, as she saw him holding Shifty Sam and Colvert 
under the point of his gun, she thrilled in spite of her- 
self and, as Ben regained his feet and steadily re- 
sisted the succeeding rush, unconsciously she spoke, 
her eyes following the smiting, staggering, blood-cov- 
ered forms before her. 

“Oh, Ben! If you can only hold out! If you can 
win! You must win! You must! You will!” 

With parted lips and flushed cheeks, her eyes shin- 
ing with a half-hypnotized light, she stood and 
watched the terrible conflict, her hands clenched, her 
form swaying unconsciously in sympathy with the 
movements of the man she had loved, lost, con- 
demned, repudiated because unworthy — and still 
loved ! 

Ben was impervious to all. The last he had really 
noticed was Shifty Sam reaching out for the deed 
and then his words to Conley and a rush of fire in 
his brain. Then came that terrific blow and his mar- 
velous recovery. His brain now burned afresh as 
he thought of his deadly wrongs, the fate of the 
woman he loved, all because of this man before him. 
He called upon his will, his will upon his body and 
both responded. The indomitable spirit, the imperi- 
ous, irresistible fighting spirit and fire of his great 
grandsire rose in response to that call. Through 
heart, lung and arm shot a flame of vital energy. By 
it he was transformed from a staggering, tottering, 
swaying figure into a human thunderbolt. He fell 
upon Conley with the fury of a storm. Coruscat- 

303 


IBen OJatman 


ing blows threw the gambler’s head from side to side, 
bursting through his guard like battering rams. 

The psychological instant came, Ben’s right arm 
shot up like a piston, the iron knuckles caught the 
sullen jaw at the precise point, the hairy, bloody arms 
of the ex-heavyweight champion flung upward, his 
huge form straightened, toppled and crashed to the 
floor, his head crunching a chair as he struck. The 
mighty frame, with ensanguined, knotted, powerful 
arms lay motionless. 

Over him stood the superb, young form and blazed 
the battlelight in the eyes of Ben Warman. The 
fight was won. 


304 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


A DEBT IS PAID 

A few moments before that last terrific blow had 
been struck two more figures had entered the outer 
doorway, Sibyl and Gerald Lorimer. With staring 
eyes and catching breath they too saw the end. They 
saw Ben Warman lean over his antagonist in fierce 
triumph, his breath sucked in and expelled in wheez- 
ing sobs; saw him throw up his hands, heard him 
laugh horribly and gasp: 

“My last — fight — and I — win!” They saw him 
scrape the blood from his brow and eyes, totter to 
the table, snatch up the deed and check, tear them 
into a dozen pieces, throw them on the floor and spit 
his blood upon them. Then he backed against the 
wall and surveyed the circle of strange faces vaguely, 
indistinctly, his brain still seemingly oblivious to their 
identity. 

“Ben! Ben!” exclaimed Dick, grasping and sup- 
porting him, “your friends are here; calm yourself.” 

“I didn’t need a gun; I beat him — with muh 
hands.” 

“Yes, yes, old man, it was magnificent. Come on 
now, get cleaned up.” 

“It was — coming to him.” 

“Sure it was. But you’ll want to get some clothes 
on now. Come on.” 

“My last— fight. I waited — a long time; too long. 
You know I waited — when it was hard. But — the 
time came— at last — and I win — the fight.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he 

305 


05en <H3arman 


opened them he was himself and realized at last the 
presence and identity of those about him. It was no 
dream, he was looking — looking into the face of Rose 
Graham ! And with her, God ! was Gerald Lorimer, 
her husband ! 

“My coat and vest, Dick.” He slipped them on 
with Dick’s assistance and went with him to the 
kitchen where they washed his upper body, face and 
hands clean of the blood, dirt and sweat. 

When they returned Rose was in the Professor’s 
arms, both crying. Sibyl, white-faced, immobile, had 
stood silent through it all and gazed upon the bat- 
tered countenance of the one man in all the world to 
her. He had looked into her eyes stonily and she 
felt in her very soul that he knew the truth — the 
whole truth. 

Shifty Sam and Colvert had summoned assistance 
and now they lifted and bore away the huge, insensi- 
ble form of their chief ; but not until a woman’s form, 
the form of Trixie Howard, had swiftly entered and 
thrown itself to its knees beside the prostrate figure 
and stroked back from his forehead Conley’s blood- 
stained hair. She rose menacingly and after casting 
on all in the room a fierce glance from her flashing 
eyes, turned directly upon the Professor. “Mur- 
derer!” she hissed. “You shall hang.” 

The old scholar now suddenly stood forth and 
faced them all. Brokenly, passionately, he spoke : 
“I must speak, I must. I am the cause of it all.” 

Ben motioned for him to cease. “Think, Profes- 
sor, you know best, but think before you talk.” 

“I have thought, thought for nearly seven hideous 
months, until thinking had almost driven me mad. I 
will speak.” 

He went on rapidly, excitedly: “I have been forced 
to write letters to you, Rose, that have tortured me 
as if every dip of the pen was a stab into my heart’s 
306 


'Bett (KJarman 


blood ; because, as I looked at it, I was saving you 
from a terrible thing, even more terrible than the ob- 
ject of those letters; saving you from an awful dis- 
grace that would blast your life; because of a cow- 
ardly, awful terror that filled my soul, day and night, 
waking and sleeping and peopled my dreams with 
terrible images. Conley had my secret and held it 
over me as a sword. Tonight the climax came. I had 
to deed the property to him or have the sword fall. 
At the last moment, after I had yielded and signed, 
after I suffered the tortures of the damned, Ben came. 
Another minute would have been too late. The sword 
may yet fall, but I must speak.” 

He plunged into his next statement swiftly, amid 
a profound silence, all eyes upon him. 

“Thirty-five years ago I was a young Professor at 
an eastern college. There I met and married a young 
girl secretly. Her parents opposed the union. They 
cast us off. The world knew nothing of this. A 
year after our marriage a child was born — a boy, the 
image of his mother; dark, delicate, beautiful. The 
mother and child lived in a nearby town. Everybody 
supposed I was single. After dusk we would meet on 
the banks of a river half way between the college and 
the little hamlet where they temporarily resided. We 
loved and were happy, but for various reasons 
thought it best to keep our union a secret until the 
end of the college year.” 

He paused a moment with a gesture of pain. 

“One evening she brought our boy, Grant, with 
her. Standing by the steep river bank, I started to 
take the babe from her arms, stumbled over a root 
and fell against them. My God ! I can see them now ! 
It threw them into the deep, rapid stream. I could 
not swim. They disappeared instantly, hidden by 
the growing gloom and the shrubbery and trees that 
line the bank. 

307 


15en iKHarman 


“Just as I stumbled against them a boat passed 
close to the bank. It was not quite dark. The man 
in the boat was from my college town a few miles up 
the river. He knew me. As I stood paralyzed on 
the edge of the bank, cursed with physical incapacity, 
useless, inefficient, helpless because of my neglect of 
athletics and too close application to books, resulting 
in overwrought nerves, he pulled his boat below the 
spot where they disappeared. As he swept by he 
cried fiercely: ‘You scoundrel, you murderer, I saw 
you push them off.’ And he sped on in an attempt 
to find them lower down the stream. Murderer! he 
had called me. I knew he could not save them; he 
did not. They were never found. 

“The horrible word, murderer, rang in my ears. I 
began, in my disordered, impractical, visionary mind, 
to array the circumstantial evidence that would cer- 
tainly be produced : our secret marriage, the continued 
concealment, our living apart as though alienated, my 
employment and position as a single man, my appar- 
ent purpose to keep our marriage relationship se- 
cret, then the positive evidence of this man, who, 
though mistaken, was honest in his belief, and he 
was a man of good reputation whose word would 
be given weight. The fact I could not myself 
deny. 

“I was seized with an awful panic and fled during 
the night to a still smaller village some miles inland, 
inconceivably stricken, tortured, afraid. The next 
morning I saw the papers. The man had told his 
story, the glaring headlines announced a coldblooded 
murder. I was accused. My disappearance substan- 
tiated the theory. It was all there, the talk of the 
secret marriage, my wife’s disinheritance, the infer- 
ence being that I had married her secretly for her 
money and then, finding she had been cut off, desired 
to be rid of her so as to be in a position to marry for 
308 


"Beit ©Harman 


money again. A warrant had been issued. The offi- 
cers were on the trail. 

“Like a fool, the fool I was, like a felon, the felon 
I was not, I fled to the West and never have I seen 
or heard aught of the matter in all these years. After 
five years I married again, Rose’s mother, under my 
assumed name of Graham. My real name is Grant 
Maxwell, and under that name the indictment, which 
I must now face, hangs over me. My conscience was 
clear, but I was cursed by a great, everlasting, cow- 
ardly fear, terror slumbered in my heart. Yet 1 
had almost forgotten fear when Conley, somehow,* 
learned the secret. For over six months I have been 
in hell, at his beck and call; forced to do his will.” 

As the shrunken little student had proceeded with 
his narrative, his confession, Dick’s eyes were fixed 
upon his face ; and as he pronounced the name. Grant 
Maxwell, an exclamation came from his lips. The 
eyes of all now turned to see his face white, his eyes 
shining with some strange emotion. He sprang to the 
Professor’s side, opened a locket and held a picture 
before the eyes of the old scholar, who started, gasped 
and in shaking tones exclaimed: “My wife — the 
mother of my boy ! Where did you get this ? where ? 
where ?” 1 

A beautiful smile lit up Dick’s white, handsome 
face. “She was my mother. I was that boy,” he 
went on rapidly. “I have the papers and the locket 
to prove it. Professor, father, you need have no fear. 
Though the world never knew it we did not perish in 
the stream. We were swept down by the swift cur- 
rent and cast upon a sand bar a short distance below, 
where we were found later by a solitary rowman en 
route down the river, a stranger in that section. He 
took us off and late the next day left us at an iso- 
lated fisherman’s hut. Here my mother was at once 
seized with a fever and after a few weeks’ illness, 
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Beit (EOarmatt 


during which time she was unconscious, died. In the 
last moment her mind cleared sufficiently only to pro- 
nounce my name — Grant, which I now see was my 
first name, as it is yours, father. 

“They supplied the name of Richard and I became 
and have ever since been, Dick Grant. They raised 
me in their rude, simple way, the best they knew how ; 
but they were poor and I left them and made my 
own way. They are still living.” 

“My boy, my boy, it is true. Your face has at- 
tracted me and haunted me ever since I first saw 
you,” and the Professor, laughing and crying almost 
hysterically in his relief and joy, caught Dick to him. 
“Come, daughter.” In an instant the three were in 
each other’s arms, sobbing, crying, laughing. “God 
be praised, my daughter. Thank God you did not 
after all heed my letters. Your own good sense and 
judgment, your own womanhood, in the last moment, 
saved you. Thank God, thank God!” 

Ben started galvanically to his feet at the words as 
though a great weight had suddenly been lifted from 
him. The stony hardness of his face softened, a 
great, long breath of relief came from his still heav- 
ing lungs. And then a marvelous light of peace and 
calm settled upon his disfigured countenance. 

“Yes,” came suddenly in a wild tone from Gerald 
Lorimer. “At the last moment she refused and cast 
me off, curse you all; cast me off as though I had 
been a snake,” he went on wildly, while all regarded 
him with amazement. His drug-filled brain was grad- 
ually working him into a state of irresponsibility. 
“She took the train the evening of the night we were 
to have been married, determined to see her father 
first. But I caught the same train and my team from 
the station was not far behind hers. I don’t know, 
though, why I came. It’s no use. Yes, I do know. 
It is to go the pace out here till I die. She’s cast me 
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TBett (KUanttan 


off,” he addressed Rose directly, “you can watch me 
sink into the ditch and the grave.” 

His hair was disordered, his frenzied mind was re- 
flected in twitching fingers, his glazing eyes, his work- 
ing features. 

“You might have saved me and you refuse. Ha! 
Ha! Ha!” he laughed wildly, weirdly, insanely. “I 
have it. You’ll go with me and we’ll both go now.” 

His hand dashed to his hip pocket and then some- 
thing bright flashed. Ben sprang but he was too far 
away. In that moment of awaited death Rose’s soul 
rose and a sublime bravery shone from her calm eyes, 
the spirit of an exquisite heroism transfigured her 
countenance. All stood paralyzed, save Ben — and 
Sibyl. She was as a statue electrified to quick life. 
She had been standing quite near and leaped like a 
leopardess, throwing herself in front of her insane 
brother and seizing his arm. Simultaneously there 
came a deafening report and the long, slender, un- 
dulating form swayed but kept its feet. 

Ben had almost reached the maniac now; the blaz- 
ing eyes were turned upon him and the gun leveled 
at his breast. The weaving form of Sibyl clung to 
him and once more lurched between him and his vic- 
tim. Even as Ben’s hand darted out for the weapon 
a second shot rang and Sibyl sank to the floor, blood 
gushing from her breast. Once again the gun spoke 
and Gerald Lorimer fell beside his sister, a suicide. 

Pityingly they bore Sibyl to Rose’s room. A tired 
smile lit her pale countenance. At her request all de- 
parted from the room save Rose. 

“I tried to take him from you — I loved him, too. 
The stories — about him — are untrue. Don’t blame 
him. Our engagement,” she gasped, “resulted from 
a high sense of honor which — I magnified. He is 
true — to you. Send him ” 

Rose stooped and kissed the white brow and with 


15en (KBarman 


wet eyes went from the room. For the first time she 
spoke to Ben. 

“Go to her.” 

Ben stood beside the woman whose life was fast 
ebbing. 

“I tried — to take you — from her. Forgive ” 

she whispered now. “I loved — but overmuch. I 
wronged — you — to gain — you. I know — that you 
know — all. I confess — forgive. I have atoned — 
somewhat — I told you — I might some day — save your 
life — as you saved — mine and Gerald’s. I give — my 
life — gladly — for both of you. It is — as well. I want 
to — be buried — here.” 

The amber eyes looked into his, the white, perfect 
lips smiled faintly, pathetically, as she saw in the blue 
eyes above her a great pity and sorrow. 

“Goodb ” It was but a whispering sigh. The 

race of the Lorimers was extinct. 


312 


CHAPTER XXXV 


READJUSTMENTS 

For many weeks and in after months and years 
they told in Diorite and to the far borders of the 
state wherever men congregated in the lobby, at the 
prospect hole or the campfire, in the mines and on the 
range, the story of Warman’s last fight. 

“Un’ tuh think,” mourned Dan Drillard, “I didn’t 
see ut; me uz hed ben with ’im night un’ day for six 
months. Ut’s the ironty of fate.” 

As for Ben he never spoke of it and none had the 
temerity to question him. When Conley recovered, 
a shattered wreck, he and Trixie Howard disappeared 
and were never seen again in the camps of the West. 
Under the skillful manipulation of a surgeon Ben was 
presentable in the course of a few days. 

But one thing he did the day succeeding the fight, 
remembering Conley’s words, for which he was 
thankful, regarding the annual work on the claims. 
And when that night a man in a corduroy suit, hawk- 
faced, came to the Columbine property, he found 
Dan, the grizzled old prospector, busily engaged. The 
owners of the Columbine lodes had “resumed work” 
on their property prior to midnight the thirty-first. 
Their title was secure. 

Suddenly Dan saw his visitor. He stepped up 
closely and peered into his face. “I thought so, damn 
yuh. I missed seein’ a great fight but we’re goin’ tuh 
give un imitation uh one now. I’m a goin’ tuh whale 
the everlastin’ tar out’en you. Y’u’re goin’ tuh git a 
lickin’ and she’ll be a raazamalooloo, y’u raptile!” 

3*3 


15 en (HJarman 


For the next five minutes the snow at that particu- 
lar point was mightily disturbed. The next day the 
man in the corduroy suit wore so many strips of court 
plaster and tape criss-crossed upon his face that it 
had much the appearance of a disarranged diamond- 
faced pie. And on the next day the stage bore him 
out of Diorite. 

Anderson, the recorder, for some reason unknown 
to the public, after an interview with Ben, resigned 
his office and a new recorder stood behind the min- 
ing records of the Diorite District. 

In after days the places where Dan had sunk shafts 
for the annual work were pointed out to the Profes- 
sor as the work he had had done ; for Ben had en- 
joined strictest secrecy as to the old scholar’s failure 
in that regard. 

In the Graham home they resolved to keep the 
name of Graham and stay in the West as the past 
was dead. The editor of the Diorite Herald became 
Richard Grant Graham. 

“Quite impressive,” said that worthy young gentle- 
man, “if not particularly euphonious.” 

It was a happy family that, reunited, sat in the old 
home. The mysterious sympathy and affection among 
them, now understood, blossomed into the full flower 
of filial, brotherly and sisterly love. 

“Just to think,” laughed Dick happily. “A few 
days ago I was an unattached, homeless orphan. 
Now I’ve a father, a sweet sister and a home.” 

Rose told them briefly how she had agonized over 
the letters of her father until their urgent pleading 
to follow his desires, her pity and love for him, had 
shaken her resolution ; and how, at last, there came a 
most piteous letter which had well-nigh compelled her 
to obey. And then one dark day Lorimer, who had 
at last been armed with the black secret, in despera- 
tion, fearing failure, had told her of the alleged crime, 

3H 


ISeti aSQatmatt 

' 


and her terror had caused her immediate surrender. 
When the fatal hour neared, however, an acute revul- 
sion, an irresistible impulse had driven her to the 
train and home, leaving, as she thought, Lorimer 
in Chicago. 

“I felt that there must be something wrong some- 
where, some terrible mistake, some other way of es- 
cape and that the charge was not true. I could not 
believe it and yet your letters apparently confirmed 
everything he told me” She shuddered at the recol- 
lection. 

She did not speak of Ben’s engagement to Sibyl 
and the terrible interpretation put upon it by Lori- 
mer, not disproven to her until Sibyl’s dying words. 
But they knew and realized that she had suffered 
in still, lonely agony to the limits of her womanly en- 
durance and courage — there alone in the big city. 

But now, knowing all, Dick having enlightened her 
as to some ambiguous matters, the misery went from 
her eyes, her lips became red as of old, her features 
filled to a promise of their perfect fullness and in her 
face now was the quiet, subdued, clear light of hap- 
piness — at least of peace. 

And then one evening Dick brought Ben home with 
him, the first time since the terrible night of battle 
and death. Again he looked into her eyes and she 
into his and talked quietly of many ordinary things. 
To Ben’s recital of the Yellowstone trip they listened 
with fascinated interest. When he reached the point 
where the interview with Sacajawea was ended they 
could scarce find words, so strange did it all seem. 

To the narrative of the finding of the name carved 
in the wall of the gulch they marveled much, but to 
thrill a moment later when came the discovery of the 
placer gold. 

Rose paled a little as Ben briefly wound up the tale 
with a short, terse statement of how the half-breed, 
315 


15en iKHarmatt 


Rainer, Conley’s hired murderer, appeared on the 
scene and how he met his death. 

“Fate was kind to us,” Ben mused aloud in con- 
clusion. “Beside the boulder where he lay we picked 
up an unexploded shell upon which the trigger had 
left its mark.” 

Dissipating the effect of his last words Ben laughed 
happily and continued: “In three months Dan and 
I cleaned up from that wonderful gravel bed One 
Hundred Thousand Dollars. And now, we’re rich, 
rich enough,” he laughed with his old, sonorous tone, 
infectious, good to the ear, “to develop our copper 
mine. Dan, you know, has a fifth interest in my in- 
terest in the copper claims and a fourth interest in 
the placer. According to our arrangements that 
leaves each of us three twenty-five thousand dollars. 
I have deposited that amount to the credit of each of 
you in the bank.” 

To their immediate protestations and objections he 
lifted his hand. “That’s all there is to it; except,” 
he added smilingly, “I’m goin’ to draw on you for 
five thousand each, the same as I put in, for develop- 
ment money for the Columbine. We must run that 
shaft down now and open her up. I’ve kept Dan 
busy and been ‘busy myself and tomorrow we resume 
work at full blast, three shifts.” 

“The deposition of minerals ” began the Pro- 

fessor in his old manner, which gladdened all their 
hearts, when Dick, his boy, whom he would forgive 
anything — besides he was used to it — interrupted 
him. 

“Don’t, Pop; that’s too long a story. We want to 
talk about ourselves and results.” 

“Sorry you didn’t belong to the family sooner, Dick; 
you ain’t in on this divvy anywhere — yet,” Ben ban- 
tered. 

“Well, I don’t know,” Dick drawled in imitation, 
316 


“Ben <K3atman 


“I guess I was as much a member of the family then 
as you were. I don’t see where you are — yet.” 

And Rose found work in the kitchen that needed 
her close attention. Ben’s face was red but he man- 
aged to laugh reproachfully. “You young devil — I 
suppose I’ll have to look out for the irrepressible 

young brother now. But ” he added, as his face 

grew serious, “I don’t know.” 

The tragedies were fresh in the minds of all, espe- 
cially to Ben and Rose. They were too recent for him 
to speak. They needed no interview and no expla- 
nations. Events had been the solution of many prob- 
lems. 

When Rose said goodbye again and left them for 
Chicago to take up her work where she had dropped 
it, there was, as before, only a strong handclasp. It 
would take six months to finish her course. Mary 
McLaughlin went with her as far as her college where 
she had been sent by Ben the year before. 

Dick accompanied them on the trip this time and 
went on to Boston, where he furnished to the authori- 
ties complete evidence in exoneration of his father 
on the old charge and cleared the records. 


3 n 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE STRIKE 

Mesa and Ginger, bearing Ben and Dan, slid to a 
stop on their haunches at the Graham dooryard. Ben 
dropped upon the table before the Professor, rejuve- 
nated and sprightly, and Dick, buoyant and happy, a 
piece of peacock copper ore that scintillated with yel- 
low, blue and purple flashes. 

“Prof., the firm’s worth a million and you’re a great 
man — and a rich one ! We’ve cross-cut fifteen feet of 
that at a depth of two hundred seventy-five feet!” he 
announced, his face glowing with victory, his eyes 
sparkling like blue diamonds. 

“Whoop!” yelled Dick, grabbing Ben by the arms 
and waltzing him around the room. Then he dropped 
him and pounced upon Dan, to the destruction of an 
excruciating dignity that worthy was trying to assume, 
and took him twice around the room for good meas- 
ure, Dan fighting vigorously all the while. When 
they turned again to the Professor he was leaning 
over the splendid piece of copper ore, his most ac- 
centuated, professional, scientific air enveloping him. 
Raising his head proudly he said with a profoundly 
scholarly, teacher-like tone : “The deposition of min- 
erals ” 

“Aw — cut it out, Dad,” whooped the irreverent 
Dick. “Life’s too short. Let’s celebrate.” 

The Professor looked startled a moment, then 
shrugged his shoulders, smiled happily and respond- 
ed : “I will collaborate in your, our celebration. Yes, 
let’s celebrate.” And he proceeded to set out a huge 

318 


'Beit ([(Harman 


lunch on the red and white, old-fashioned tablecloth. 
“But first we must send a telegram to Rose.” 

“Aw-um-aw,” said Ben, “you needn’t mind. I at- 
tended to that ; came right by the telegraph office.” 

“We thank you most sincerely for this most dis- 
interested service,” bowed Dick politely. “So kind of 
you.” Dan sniggered. This called Dick’s attention to 
him. “Danny,” he warned, “you want to look out now 
since you’re cropped out, as a bloated bullionaire; 
some woman will be putting a discovery notice on you 
and locating a claim.” 

“Huh! She’d hev tuh dig purty deep, let me tell 
yuh, tuh find a heart lead.” 

“Oh, she wouldn’t be looking for a heart lead — 
just a — pocket.” 

“Look here,” burst out Dan, “y’u fellers hez all had 
y’ur explode. I’ve ben a holdin’ muh breath fur half 
un hour tuh git in a word edgewise. Don’t furgit fur 
a minute thet ol’ Dan Drillard, what’s been a pestifer- 
catin’ the atmosphere uh the West fur forty year, hez 
made his stake at last un’ made ut plentiful. D’y’u 
city-bred sharps, y’u plumb, overshot eddicated in- 
tellectools, includin’ Ben, realize thet this ol’ hairy, 
battered ign’runt deerelect uv a prospector is wuth in 
the neighborhood uv a hundred thousand dollars? 
Hey? Why, say! I cun make another trip clean to 
Shecawgo. ’Spect I will. I’ll go long ’ith Ben when 
he goes.” 

“Dan, if I ever catch you hanging around me in 
Chicago I’ll throw you into the middle of the lake,” 
responded Ben with well assumed fierceness, but pat- 
ent joyousness. 

“Yes, yuh will.” 

“I’ll take that back, Dan,” rejoined Ben. “I won’t 
throw you in, because there are laws there, and I am 
a law-abiding citizen, prohibiting the casting of dele- 
terious substances into the lake,” he concluded, grin- 

319 


TStn (KHarntan 


ning broadly at the success of his venture into verbal 
labyrinths. 

“Ben Warman, Elias Dan’l Webster, don’t you 
throw no more uh them unbridged dickshunary whop- 
pers ut me. I ain’t no delirious substance, neither; 
ain’t took a drink in a year — week ago last Wednes- 
day. Say, from the minute I heard them raazama- 
looloos uv the Professor’s up on the lead the fust time, 
I knew ut wuz a cinch we’d open up a rich copper 
mine.” 

Underneath all the byplay and banter was the ever- 
present fact of the copper strike, of a great success, 
lifting their spirits high. 

“Say,” said Dick suddenly, “I’ve got to get this 
strike news to the Associated Press. Me for the 
telegraph office. Won’t the Herald be a dandy next 
Friday? She’ll be a — a raazamalooloo !” 

“Well,” said Dan, as he complacently picked his 
teeth with a fork, “don’t see any use stayin’ any 
longer muhself — everything is et up. I’ll just lope 
down the street with yuh. I’m goin’ down to distrib- 
ute muhself plumb promis’cus around them candy 
doodads down ut the store. Goin’ tuh buy up the hull 
window un’ sit in ut. Prof., won’t yuh come down 
and hev some candy on me?” 

“Thanks, Dan, I don’t eat candy. The effect of the 
saccharine elements on the human system ” 

Dan slammed the door. Then Ben and the old 
scholar had a heart to heart talk. 

A few weeks of development on the great copper 
strike proved it to be of even greater magnitude and 
richer than the most sanguine anticipation the most 
optimistic had conceived. In a week a thousand 
people were added to Diorite’s population and new- 
comers were still pouring in at the rate of more than 
a hundred a day. For miles around the Columbine 
group the ground was staked, new companies were 
520 


'IBett (KHarman 


formed, new shafts started. A group of three claims 
which Ben had staked previously for the partnership 
sold within a week after the big strike for fifty thouc 
sand dollars. 

Everywhere Ben was pointed out as the man who 
had made the great discovery, had toiled away for a 
year and more upon the claims, and staked them in a 
gambling game, had almost lost them through treach- 
ery, and as the man who, in a fair fight, had shat- 
tered the great Jim Race, alias Bart Conley, the great- 
est retired heavyweight fighter of the country. He 
was sought by capitalists as well as miners who had 
“sure thing” prospects to develop or sell. He was 
feted and dined and flattered, but through it all he 
was the same level-headed, good-natured, generous, 
common man he had been during the past year; just 
the same. And yet men of education and wealth, 
having heard of his wild life, his marvelous skill with 
the gun, his recklessness, his fighting courage, found, 
to their surprise, a handsome man, dressed in miners’ 
clothes or in a neat, plain business suit, quiet-voiced, 
clear-eyed, courteous, self-controlled ; a man who used 
good language and who could talk well of Longfel- 
low, Shakespeare and the Bible ; likewise he was thor- 
oughly grounded in the fundamental principles of ge- 
ology and the “deposition of minerals.” 

At the same time they did not fail to note the de- 
termination in every line of his face, the strength in 
his superb figure, and, above all, an undefinable im- 
pression of command and power that seemed to radi- 
ate from his whole personality. This impression 
flowed, not from anything that was exhibited, or os- 
tensibly visible, or done or said by him, but from 
the sense which somehow all felt who came in con- 
tact with him now, that he was complete master of 
himself. 

Let it not be thought that Ben absorbed all the at- 
32 1 


13m anarmatt 


tention and credit of the great copper strike and its 
consequent development. “Professor Graham is the 
man,” Ben would explain invariably and affection- 
ately, proudly, “who really discovered and developed 
the Columbines. He furnished the brains ; I just fur- 
nished the horse-power. ,, 

Diorite grew busy and prosperous. An electric 
light plant with water-power from a dam up the can- 
yon of the Lost Dog spattered blue lights about the 
town to its utmost limits. Water works soon put the 
purest mountain water at the disposal of every in- 
habitant. The preliminary survey to place fifty thou- 
sand acres, later fifty thousand more, under irrigation 
was in process. 

In all these various enterprises, though he did not 
assume to have the technical knowledge necessary to 
inaugurate and construct them, Ben was one of the 
moving spirits, a power in the initiation. He invested 
part of his means in them, helped to initiate them 
and then left them in the hands of competent associ- 
ates. He wisely confined his greatest interests and 
his personal attention to the mine, the reduction plant 
and — a railroad; for he had joined with capitalists 
in the organization of the Rawlins and Diorite Rail- 
way Company. 


3 22 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


UNDER THE MOON-BORN RAINBOW 

One bright day in the early part of July Rose Gra- 
ham sat in the library of the home of Aunt Caroline 
Kincaid, temporarily Rose’s home, as well, in Lawn- 
dale, suburb of Chicago. 

She was reading a letter from her father, his last 
one. In fact, she was re-reading it for the fourth 
time. It gave a vivid account of the great activities 
and enterprises at Diorite, not omitting the part a 
certain Ben Warman was taking in all of them. 

“Our hopes have been more than fulfilled,” she 
read. “The hidden strain in his blood, the old Puri- 
tan element, is coming out in magnificent style, to- 
gether with his will power and natural intellectual 
strength, which, in the raw, he always possessed. The 
combination of his new qualities with the best of the 
old, approaching the true balance, the golden mean, 
have made a great product. 

“The Puritan is the strain that conquered and yet 
it has not wholly conquered and it is well that it does 
not. It has been victorious only in the sense that, 
having been in abeyance, it has now come forward; 
only to the extent that it has regained its proper place 
in his character. The 'throw-back,’ the reversion 
to the type of his great grandsire, was wonderfully 
strong, but not exclusive. Neither the anterior nor the 
posterior brain qualities are predominant, but have 
merged intelligence and power, culture and strength, 
producing true manhood. In him are now combined 
refinement and virility — he is a man. 

323 


15m Mlnxmm 


“I am delighted. The subtle workings of charac- 
ter principles ” 

Rose frowned as the doorbell rang. She did not 
want to be interrupted. Letter in hand, she walked 
into the wide hallway leading to the front door 
and suddenly stood still, the letter fluttering to the 
floor unnoticed. A big, fine looking, well dressed, 
smiling, golden-haired gladiator stood on the front 
porch. 

“Ben !” was all she could say for a moment, nor did 
she move, what with her great surprise and 

“Well, I’ve come a long way from the foothills,” he 
laughed. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? You 
might let a fellow rest for a few minutes, anyway.’* 
Then, with a peculiar change of speech and a drawl, 
he went on: “Yuh might reckenize me quicker ef I 
said, It’s sure a plumb long canter in from the hilla 
un’ I’m frazzled complete.” 

Not waiting for an answer, he stepped into the hall- 
way and hung his modern straw hat on the rack in 
a manner rather significant of a mood to help himself. 
And then — he was suddenly holding her hands. Call- 
ing all her self-possession to the fore, she looked into 
his eyes, then at the fine, bronzed, spirited face, the 
laughing, strong, white teeth, the splendid shoulders, 
his perfectly fitting light-grey suit ; and while she was 
at it, took in his polished shoes, his correct and im- 
maculate linen, even the neat dark-blue tie with the 
little white dots in it! 

He was indeed a new man and yet the same old 
Ben Warman laughed from his blue eyes. 

“Aunt, Aunt Caroline has gone out for the after- 
noon, Ben, and ” she paused, her heart in a flutter.. 

“Wasn’t that splendid of her! Wonder how she 
knew I would be here? I certainly like Aunt Caro- 
line. Say, what does she look like? No, never mind 
telling me now, we haven’t time to talk — about her.. 
324 


'35cit anatntan 


i. 

Don’t see, though, how she knew I was coming be- 
cause I didn’t write you and I told Prof, and Dick 
that if they notified you I would run them through 
the smelter when she starts up.” 

“Oh, yes, the smelter,” exclaimed Rose, fluttering 
eagerly to some other subject. “Tell me all about the 
folks first and then about everything. Don’t you omit 
one single thing.” 

And Ben had to begin at the beginning, from the 
time the first particles of copper appeared in 
the mine, and relate everything, down to the 
present moment. Her eyes danced with delight at it 
all. 

“So, Mr. Capitalist Ben Warman, you are in the 
little city of Chicago to buy seventy-five thousand dol- 
lars’ worth of machinery ! Seems to me that’s a pretty 
big job for a reckless, careless, rollicking cowboy and 
prospector.” 

“Well,” he smiled broadly, “it’s going some. But 
that’s only a starter. I’m general manager of a firm 
that’s doing lots of things out there in old Wyoming. 
There’s a Professor, with glasses and brains — he’s 
President. And there’s a young lady with a crown of 
brown-black hair and dark eyes, and pink in her 
cheeks, growing pinker, and sweet lips and brains and 
broad-gauge charity and sense and courage and faith 
— she’s Treasurer. She’s the one I’m watching — now. 
Along with all the other valuables of the partner- 
ship,” he gently drew her to him, “she’s treasurer of 
my heart and,” he concluded suddenly, gravely, as 
his strong arms went about her, “I’m asking her heart 
for security.” 

The rich blood mounted to the beautiful face of the 
girl in his arms, a little sob contracted her throat, as 
she bravely lifted her eyes to his. 

“If I have your heart, Ben, it’s a treasure I shall 
always try to keep — secure. And if — if it’s equiva- 
325 


15eit ®3arman 


lent and just the same to you,” her eyes flashed mer- 
rily through a dewy moisture as her arms flung about 
his neck, “you have mine.” 

“Rose, Rose, Rose, my Wild Rose,” he murmured. 
“At last, at last. Kiss me, sweetheart, my little girl, 
and seal the new partnership between us.” 

Fearlessly now, freely, unquestioningly, with pure 
trust and faith, with confidence and love, no shadow 
of doubt remaining in her luminous eyes, her lips met 
his and the world was shut out. 

Had Aunt Caroline come in during the next five 
minutes she would have seen what at first glance 
would have appeared to her as a single figure stand- 
ing in utter silence, oblivious to the flight of time 
and all else. Heights and depths, principalities 
and powers were as naught save the heights and 
depths, the illimitable heights, the fathomless depths 
of love, the principalities and powers of happi- 
ness. 

He finally held her from him and looked with lov- 
ing, admiring, hungry eyes at the waving dark hair, 
the broad brow, the dark eyes with just a touch of 
brown lurking in their depths, the beautiful face, the 
figure rounding into a glorious womanhood. He had 
been in a measure prepared but her beauty, grace and 
refinement surpassed all that he had conceived or im- 
agined. 

“You are the same Rose, but how wonderfully 
beautiful you have grown,” he said simply. But in 
his eyes she saw inexpressibly more and she was glad. 
The more beautiful she was the more she could give 
and the happier she would be. Such is the nature of 
woman, true woman. 

“And you,” she replied, “Ben, I’ll almost be afraid 
to take you out on the street. I — I — don’t want the 
other women to even look at you.” Which was also 
the mark of the eternal feminine. 

326 


'Ben S3aratan 


“But I’ll be so proud that I’ll want them all to see 
you.” Wherein she displayed still another facet of 
the diamond. 

He kissed her for answer and then said briskly: 
“You are going home, dear, home with me, Rose, dear, 
for I’ve built a bungalow down on the banks of the 
Lost Dog, just at the mouth of the canyon, where the 
stream tumbles out of the mountains, and it’s wait- 
ing for us. The day before I came away I was over 
there and I asked all the flowers if I should bring 
you there. I knew what they would say. Just for a 
bluff, though, they first whispered with the wind and 
then to each other and then every one of them — the 
Columbine, the Wild Rose, the Flag Lily and Indian 
Pink, the Larkspur and Blue Bell, the Deer Tongue 
and Mariposa Lilies and the Wild Hollyhock — every 
one of them nodded — yes. It was unanimous.” 

Her face had flushed like a veritable Wild Rose in 
the lustre of the sun’s rays as he talked of the flow- 
ers, her old friends. She knew the very spot of which 
he spoke, almost the very flowers. 

(That night at Diorite the Professor, after reading 
the contents of a telegram, passed the yellow paper to 
Dick. The old scholar’s hands trembled slightly as he 
removed his glasses which, in some unaccountable way, 
had grown misty. 

“The mystery of the human heart ” 

“And so unexpected,” said Dick, pensively.) 

A sunny-faced, buxom lady of forty-five entered. 
“I want to thank you for going out this afternoon 
when you did. Aunt Caroline,” were the startling 
words she first heard and they came from a perfect 
stranger. “We arranged matters very satisfactorily 
in your very kind, tactful and much appreciated ab- 
sence. The wedding will take place out West next 
week.” 

She stared at him in amazement, utterly flustrated. 

327 


TBtn IflJarman 


“Why! What on earth! What are you talk 

Who? What! When! Why, the idea!” 

“Won’t you be seated, Aunt Caroline ? It’s a warm 
day. Let me take your hat. That’s right.” She had 
fumbled out her hat pins and held her hat helplessly. 
As he concluded he took it and, bending, kissed her. 

She sank in astonished weakness into a chair he 
held for her, still gasping for comprehension, for 
words. Rose’s laughing, radiant face dispelled the 
momentary fear that a madman had taken possession 
of their home. 

“Of all things! I never heard the like. Goodness 
gracious!” she gasped in her deep bewilderment. 
“Who are you?” 

“Oh, who am I? I’m Ben. I never heard of the 
like, either, and I like it. Of all things — it’s the best 
yet; while — ‘goodness gracious!’ or gracious good- 
ness describes her to a dot.” 

And he laughed in her face, his white teeth gleam- 
ing at her in humorous audacity. 

“Oh! I know now! You’re Ben Warman!” 

“You’ve guessed it — already,” he congratulated. 
“Now after we’ve had a little tea here I must get back 
to town. Busy tonight. But don’t you worry any, 
I’ll be here every other night this week.” 

Once working, Aunt Caroline’s brain consumed no 
superfluous time. “Well, if you don’t beat anything 
I ever heard of. I declare to goodness — a wedding! 
Is it true, Rose ?” 

“It must be true, Aunty,” Rose replied to the look 
of inquiry. “He,” leveling a slender, adorable finger 
at Ben, “says so; and — he knows,” she concluded, a 
delicious red mantling her cheeks. 

And then Aunt Caroline swept — and swept is the 
only adequate word — to the girl before her, kissed 
the blushing face, pressed the dark head to her ample, 
motherly bosom, wiped a tear from her eye and then 
328 


TSzn <H3arman 


— stepped over and kissed the smiling, easy, sunny- 
featured, young athlete whose presence seemed to fill 
the entire room. “I know all about it now, Mr. Ben 
Warman; more than you think I do; or Rose does 
either, for that matter. I haven’t been a mother to 
this girl for a year for nothing.” 

And he came several evenings, the days being given 
to business, and then they started on the westward 
journey. 

“He’s just splendid!” whispered Aunt Caroline to 
Rose as she kissed her the final goodbye kiss at the 
train. Her opinion was repeated with emphasis the 
next day, though a few more tears fell, when a dozen 
pieces of beautiful cut-glass were delivered at her 
home, with just a card: From Ben and Rose. 

* * * * * 

The stage was nearing Diorite, a little late. To 
Ben and Rose the very heavens seemed to be beautiful 
and glorious in sympathy with their happiness. As 
the sun neared the horizon they thought of other sun- 
sets they had watched in the days of their first ac- 
quaintance. Crimson and purple sprang high and 
wide as if a mountain had fallen into an ocean of fire 
and splashed tongues of flame to the zenith; or as 
though a stupendous charge had been fired from the 
earth’s molten center. Against the mass of brilliant 
colors etched the white, pure lines of the snowy 
range. Upon all these changing wonders of mountain 
and sky their eyes rested and their hearts sang in 
unison, attuned to their sublime beauty and glory. 

And there were present that night after the cere- 
mony, at the wedding dinner, prepared by Hank 
Gibbs and served in the Graham home, the Professor, 
radiant and beaming; Richard Grant Graham, con- 
spicuous in his attentions to blossoming little Mary 
McLaughlin, home from school; Daniel Drillard, ner- 
vous in a suit of new store clothes, a “sawtooth” 

329 


“Ben ©Batman 


collar and an assumed dignity; his iron-gray hair 
smoothly brushed — excepting one defiantly erect 
patch; Buck Carson, resplendent in a green silk shirt 
and a yellow kerchief ; Andy McLaughlin, reclaimed 
and at peace, and Rud Burns, barbered and perfumed 
to the last, red degree. 

And respectively they said: 

“We have come ‘Per Angusta ad Augusta’ — ‘Through 
difficulties to grandeur,’ through my new son who 
has been ‘Vis a tergo’ — ‘A propelling force from be- 
hind.’ In him and in our town ‘Civilitas successit bar- 
barum’ — ‘Civilization succeeds barbarism.’ Charac- 
ter ” 

“Time.” 

“And a little child led them together.” 

“I’m shore enjoyin’ the feelacity uh the occasion.” 

“Ben, oh, Bee ’ Ef we only hed y’u out t’ t hr B«r-C^ 
in them togs !” 

“Twa hearts that beat as ane. 

“Iv’ry Rose falls in love wid its mate.” 

And then Ben and Rose, after the last happy, laugh- 
ing, tearful good-nights had been said, wended their 
way to the mouth of the canyon where the clear wa- 
ters of the Lost Dog, silvered by the rising moon, 
splashed and bubbled and glittered and sang a wel- 
come. They sat outside the low, wide-spreading bun- 
galow, built of great, long, straight mountain-pine 
logs, in happy silence. 

Came a wonderful, most beautiful sight, at which 
they looked with fascination and something of rev- 
erent awe. To the west a great rain-cloud hung, 
spraying its moisture to earth. From the East the 
round, golden moon shone full upon it, and lo! A 
moon-born rainbow arched the western heavens ! And 
there came the second, the reflection above. It was a 
superb double-bow of promise, omen of victory and 
hope ! 


330 


15m COarman 


They drank in with throbbing hearts of joy the 
beautiful phenomenon and the silvery panorama that 
stretched away over the illimitable plains in a soft, 
white, lustrous haze under the twinkling stars of the 
East. He patted her dark hair, the radiant joy, the 
marvelous peace of a wonderful love and a glorious 
world enveloping them. 

“Ben,” she murmured with soft, deep, musical 
voice, “you’ve won the great battle. I am so happy 
and proud.” 

“And,” he answered with vibrant softness, “I have 
won you, Rose, my Wild Rose, my sweetheart. There 
are more heights to climb but we will climb them to- 
gether. And now,” he raised her to her feet and 
kissed the beautiful face that was lifted up and shone 
softly like a flower in the moonlight, “let us go in — to 
our home.” 










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